The Weight of Us
by Jenthewarrior
Summary: Sequel to Holding on and Letting Go. Cristina and Owen navigate the perils of addiction, recovery, and disability as their kids grow. Challenging new cases and relationship woes plague the hospital. Cristina jeopardizes her marriage and her career with a terrible secret. Collin grapples with problems from the past. Henry fights an uphill battle for survival.
1. The Meeting

**A/N: Welcome to Part II of my Grey's Anatomy story. If you have not read the first part, it may be a little confusing at first, but this story stands on its own most of the time. It has been seven(ish) months since the end of Holding on and Letting Go. This story will move more slowly and be more character-based than the previous one. We will face the issues of addiction, recovery, and disability, among many others.**

 **XxX**

 **Chapter 1.**

 **The Meeting.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 8, 2019.**

He took the stage, walking with a pronounced limp up three short steps to the podium. In this place, there was an unspoken rule that everyone shouldn't stare at the speaker at once. It was supposed to be a safe space, a place without burden or judgement.

But she was staring right at him, _into_ him, as he worked up the muster to speak.

"Um, my name is Charlie, and… I'm an alcoholic."

A monotonous response came from the room, "Hi, Charlie."

He swallowed and tapped the podium, switching feet, looking anywhere but into the eyes of the group. He had that characteristic mask of shame, the one that followed these people around, and became more intense when they were in this building. She thought it was silly to come here, to dig up everything that hurt them and tell strangers about it, like they really cared.

But he had the courage to speak, and his voice trembled in the air.

"I hate these kinds of things, you know," he babbled, finally, dabbing sweat from his collar. "Confess all your sins, try to forgive yourself… that sort of thing. Well, I can never forgive myself. I know you guys have seen me around for a while, but I never talk, and I have a reason… a good reason. Matthew asked me to come up today and I thought I would… but there are some things you never wanna say out loud. It just… never comes out. So here it goes."

He had a story. Everyone did. Sometimes she wished she could walk into this building and sit in silence for two hours, instead of listening to strangers tell the stories of their failures. She could take her chip and go, no better off, with less of a headache on the way out the door.

Collin shifted in her lap, gazing up at her with those big, sad eyes he was so fond of nowadays. It was almost the only expression he wore. He had camouflaged in this room, matched this sad place, and it stuck with him. He barely understood what they were saying, what this place meant to these people, but he knew what it meant to her. It made her tense. She would never have stepped foot in the building if not for the insistence of Owen.

When the speech finally ended, and Cristina had a sad story about a father drinking and nearly killing his daughter while trying to drive her home bouncing around in her head, she locked her arms around Collin and tried to make her escape.

Dean cut her off before she made it down the hall.

"Cristina, glad you could make it tonight."

She winced, setting Collin down. He attached to her leg, looking back at the other departing members. He had known Dean for months now, and he still refused to look at him.

Dean did not take it personally. He glanced down at the boy, smiled, and then nodded toward the little office beside the meeting room. "Can we talk?"

"I have to get home."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You sound… off."

"I had a long day. Birthday party." Cristina crossed her arms, trying to put it out of her head. One more thing to add to the list of reasons she was here in the first place.

He put his hand on her shoulder, and gave her a little nudge. "Come on. Talking helps, remember?"

Cristina groaned. "When are you gonna stop holding that over my head?"

She followed him into the little office – _his_ office – and took a seat in one of the chairs. Collin climbed into her lap, looking briefly at the door, and then relaxing against her torso and staring off into space. She took an offered cup of coffee and sighed.

Dean sat on the edge of the desk, surveying her. "Yeah, something is definitely off. You said you had a birthday party. For your youngest, Henry, right?"

"Yeah."

"Did something happen at the party?"

"No." Cristina waited, and when it was apparent he was not going to let up on this, she resigned to confession. "It wasn't something that happened… it was the party. It was Henry. I was changing him into his clothes for the party and I just saw… all these scars, all over his stomach. And I see them every day, so what's the big deal, right? It just _hit_ me again."

Dean had kind eyes. He looked like he had been a bouncer in another life, well over six feet tall, doubled down on the muscle, with a blocky head, and a marine haircut. But those eyes took away the threat of his size. It was the only reason she let him corner her like this. He was her sponsor, and somewhere along the way she had actually let him be her friend.

He took the seat beside her, scooting it so he could sit in front of her. "You feel that pain again, that guilt for causing his suffering."

Cristina nodded, her voice minimized, "And I just wanted… I wanted…"

"But you didn't." Dean put his hand on her knee, "Right?"

"Yeah. I would have, but we didn't have anything in the house. Owen is strict about it."

"What have we learned about that kind of escape?"

"God, you sound like a camp counselor."

He smiled, rolling his hand.

She groaned, "It's temporary."

"Exactly. Now tell me, how long was Henry crying today?"

"What? He wasn't."

"Okay, how many times has he sunk down into total despair lately?"

"He hasn't."

"So, where is this suffering you keep blaming yourself for?"

Cristina shook her head. "You don't get it. He's blind. I did that."

"Yes, you did. But that was a year ago. That was the version of you that was hurting, the version that was a slave to her addiction. You have a clear head now."

"But I-"

Dean cut her off, "You feel guilty, and you wanna take that guilt and put it somewhere, but you can't figure out _where_. Do you talk about this to anyone else?"

She shook her head.

"I think you should talk to the group next week."

Cristina snorted. "No way."

"It would be good for you."

"No, it would be terrible. What a terrible idea. Give me your token, you're obviously drunk."

He shrugged, standing up and digging in his pocket. He drew out a gold token with "10 years" printed on it. It had the words "one day at a time" around the upper edge, and "to thine own self be true" on the bottom. He handed it to her.

Cristina held it out in her palm. "I was kidding."

"I want you to keep that, just for the week, and consider getting up to speak next Monday. I think it'll be good for you. You may not want to admit what you're feeling to your friends, your family, but not talking is what got you into this in the first place. Right here, with these people, you have the freedom to say whatever you want."

Cristina sat there, the chip in her hand, long after Dean had left the office. She had not been attending for a year yet, so she had a few of the little 30-day ones, because she skipped sometimes. His had more weight to it.

When she came out, he was on the stage, clearing papers from the podium, and he smiled as she walked out. Collin dragged the door open for her and then scurried through before it shut.

"What do you think, champ?" Cristina wondered, scrunching her hand in his wild hair. It was getting longer, and he had been called a girl more than a dozen times now, but she liked it this way. He looked more like Phyllis with it long.

He looked up at her and shrugged.

It was a quiet drive. When she got home the lights were out, and she snuck Collin into his bedroom. Her husband – now official, since they had gotten the papers signed a few months ago – was sitting at the kitchen table, catching up on his charting.

He smiled at her, his eyes tired. He had stopped asking his usual 'how was it?' a while ago. She never answered, anyway. He may have been the one pushing her to go every week, under threat of judgement, but he was officially excluded from that part of her life.

Instead, he settled on another greeting.

"Hi, beautiful."

Cristina stood at the back of his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "Hi. How was your day with the tiny ones?"

"Chaotic. Scooby ate a butterfly and Noah cried about it for thirty minutes."

"She ate…?"

"Whole thing. It made a crunching noise and everything."

Cristina winced. "We need to talk to her about food and non-food again."

Owen smiled, turning in his chair and pulling her into his lap. "How was your day with the slightly bigger one?"

"Quiet, as usual." Cristina snuggled gratefully into his shoulder. "He refused to talk to his therapist and gave Meredith the cold shoulder. He said something to Bailey but I didn't catch it."

"Well, at least he has one friend."

She shut her eyes, letting herself drift for a moment. She had worked the night before, and napped some in the early hours, but she was off tonight. Her meeting was her last responsibility. Owen had to go in soon, but he was off the next day. For weeks, their schedules had been opposite, so she was grateful that she got to spend time with him. He was the rock in her life.

"We should do something tomorrow."

Owen kissed the top of her head. "We could go hiking."

Cristina laughed. "Yeah, right."

"Come on. You, me, four exhausted, angry children, and all kinds of wilderness. What could possibly go wrong?"

Cristina shifted to look at his eyes – the same eyes he had given their daughter – and loved the light she saw shining in them. He was kidding, of course, but something possessed her to say, "We should do it."

He narrowed his eyes, "Really?"

"Really. Maybe with just the six of us, Collin will open up a little. And the twins could use a long walk to drain off all that extra energy. Henry loves it outside."

"Henry also has a compromised respiratory system."

"We could trade him for Bailey for the day."

Owen laughed out loud for a split second, and then reeled himself in to avoid waking the kids. "You and your devious plots."

"Come on, Collin _loves_ Bailey. You want him to open up, so let him have his bestie. Besides, Henry is so much easier than Bailey. Meredith and Derek are getting the good part of this bargain. We take their demon spawn and they take our precious little angel."

"Maybe try to sell it with a little more realism tomorrow."

"Is that a yes?"

"Maybe." He was quiet for a moment, running his hand up and down her arm, a smile on his face, and then he snorted, "Precious little angel."

"Shh. At least we're keeping the she-demon."

"I thought I would start calling her the Kraken."

"Not scary enough."

"She takes after you."

Cristina slid out of his lap. Collin was standing in the hallway, waiting for her. She scooped him up and kissed his neck, provoking a few giggles.

Owen had his judgy eyes on. "I guess we have company tonight."

She ignored him, and took Collin across the kitchen to their room, flopping down on the bed. It used to be rare for Collin to come and sleep with them, but these days he was prone to night terrors, and after a few instances of forcing him to sleep in his own bed, and listening to him scream, she refused to send him away again.

Something poked her in the butt and she pulled the ten-year chip from her pocket. She held it up to the light, sighing, and showed it to Collin.

"Did you see this, buddy?"

He stared at it, curious, and ran his finger over the bumpy surface.

"Remind me to give it back to Dean when we see him again, okay?"

Collin nodded, rolling over and spreading across the bed like he owned it. When it was just the two of them, his painful shyness evaporated, and he seemed normal. It almost seemed like his problems faded away. But the things that were wrong with him were invisible. He was plagued with the worst kind of trauma – the kind without scars.

In that respect, the two of them were the same.


	2. Memento

**A/N: I had a terrible day today. Last day of clinicals this semester, absolutely had to be there, and my car broke down in the middle of nowhere. Luckily I have a great dad who swooped in from work to drive me an hour at the butt-crack of dawn. That being said, I was going to wait to post this a few days but I figured, it's December, and I'm in the Christmas spirit. I hope you enjoy it!**

 **XxX**

 **Chapter 2.**

 **Memento.**

 **Olympic National Park, Washington State.**

 **July 9, 2019.**

Cristina spent the day laughing.

Everybody was cranky when they got to the park, but when Owen turned the miniatures loose, the world got a whole lot brighter. Collin, the same kid who screeched for ten minutes when Owen tried to pick him up that morning, grabbed Bailey by the hand and dragged him down the path. Evelyn and Noah, as thick as thieves, pursued the boys, mischief in their eyes. Cristina walked beside Owen, trading her hatred of the outdoors for her love of her insane spawn.

She had always heard Washington had great parks, but before she had kids they were never on her to-do list. It seemed trivial. But the vast open spaces, the mountains sloping in the distance, the hot breeze, the shady paths, felt like they had come straight from a movie. She could breathe, and forget the sad story she had heard the night before.

"You know, lately I think he just hates people," Owen commented, his arm around her shoulder, his eyes on the bouncing blonde at the head of the pack.

Cristina had considered that, too, but she knew it was wishful thinking. Collin may have found someone he could be himself with, but his behavior pointed to deeper problems. It was like Owen had already forgotten his meltdown that morning – not a toddler tantrum, but an instance of pure panic at being touched by the wrong person, at the wrong moment.

She kept her thoughts to herself, and smiled at Owen, leaning in for a quick kiss. "Oh, yeah, just like me. We understand each other."

Owen laughed. "Well, at least I have Noah to take after me."

"I'm working on converting him. Give it time."

Evelyn veered off the path, teetering at the edge and looking curiously at a slope that was way too sharp for her to handle.

Owen paused, pointing a dangerous finger at her. "Scooby, don't even think about it."

She looked at him, grinned, and kept walking.

Cristina faked a cough, and whispered, "Demon spawn."

"I swear, if one of our kids is gonna become a serial killer…"

"Serial killer, surgeon, is there a difference? I mean, just think about it for a second."

Cristina took his hand and they rounded a curve, where they were met with another spectacular view. Collin and Bailey had paused to look at it, still stuck together, and Cristina dug in her bag for her phone to get a picture for Meredith.

But the bag slid off her shoulder, and hit the ground.

Owen stooped to pick it up.

Cristina barely had time to get out, "No, wait, I can-"

It was too late.

He frowned at it, lifting the lip, and drew the tiny bottle from inside. He turned it in his palm, looking up at her incredulously, and the whole world ground to a sudden stop.

He whispered, "What is this?"

Cristina swallowed. "It's not what it-"

Owen stood, holding it out, his tone deepening, "What _is_ this, Cristina?"

Her pulse thrummed in her forehead. "I just carry it around. It's not open."

"You carry it around? What does that mean?" Owen looked at the label, and groaned, frustration growing in his expression. "You told me you were trying to get better – you told me you _wanted_ to get better! Have you even been going to your meetings? Where do you go at night, Cristina?"

"Owen, I-"

"No. You know what? Here." Owen thrust the bottle into her hands, and motioned for the kids to go on, turning his back on her. He spoke without looking back. "If you want to drink, do it. Have a drink. Have the whole thing."

Cristina was left standing there, holding the bottle. It was sealed. It had been a year since she had anything to drink. But what was he supposed to think? Why did she even have it?

She was only alone for a moment.

Collin came back around the corner, anxious to be separated from her, and came to her side. He looked perplexed. It had been a while since she and Owen had argued. Life was good.

She sunk down onto the side of the path, overlooking the river and the woods. Collin plopped down beside her, folding his left leg in, and leaving his right leg, his scarred leg, stretched out. If there was one single trait that stood out in him, it was loyalty. He was the only person in the whole world who, without a doubt, would never leave her. She was the center of his life.

But right now, she was thrown off her axis.

She held the bottle in her hands, reading the label over and over, recalling the taste of freedom she had been deprived of for so long. It used to be for fun, something she did socially, or to escape a hard day at work. It used to be something she could put down whenever she wanted. But right now she craved the release – escape from responsibility, from judgement, from what she had done to her kids, and to Owen.

It had been riding in her bag for weeks, unopened, like a stick of dynamite. Every now and then she took it out and looked at it.

She was not completely clear on why she had it, either.

Cristina thought about calling Dean. It was one of those moments he told her to watch out for. But she didn't want to rely on his strength – she wanted her own.

She stood up suddenly, startling Collin, and chucked the bottle into the river.

It hit the water and bobbed under, floating with the current under the path and disappearing. Collin grabbed her hand, maybe concerned she was going to jump in after it. She scooped him up, holding him tightly to her chest until her pulse slowed down.

She whispered, "That bottle was bad. Bad bottle."

When she was steady again, she caught up with Owen and the kids.

He looked back at her, raising a serious eyebrow.

Cristina dusted her hands, pulling her bag off her shoulder. "I got rid of it. Wanna check?"

He shook his head.

"I never had any, I swear." Cristina circled in front of him so he would stop, and set Collin down. She stepped closer. "I just take it with me."

Owen frowned. " _Why_?"

"I… I don't know. I don't. Call it a quirk." She waited, but his expression was unchanged. "I go to my meetings. I might have skipped one or six, but I _go_. I do."

Finally, he sighed. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. We should keep walking, get back to the car before it gets dark."

Cristina resumed her position beside him, and eventually Collin left her to walk with Bailey. She got a few weird looks from the twins. She was afraid for a while, not because she thought Owen was angry – she was not afraid of him at all – but because he seemed disappointed. She wanted to prove herself, but there was nothing she could say.

He took her hand as they were loading back into the car, and pressed a kiss to her cheek, easing the guilt in her stomach. Even when his pretty eyes were sad, when he was upset or tired, and his day had been filled with disappointment, he always gave her that kiss.


	3. Drive

**Chapter 3.**

 **Drive.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 9, 2019.**

Every now and then the pieces she had missed became clearer. Days and weeks were blotted out of her mind, but sometimes, when the light was right, when she was on the edge of sleep, when she was just open enough to it, it came back to her.

She remembered hotel rooms. Lots of them. Couches and unfamiliar beds. Booze and pills. She remembered a rooftop – the scariest recollection – and fuzzy faces that warped into nightmares.

She wanted to do what Dean asked her to, to be able to talk to someone she loved about the dark place she had gone, but there was no room in the car. It was stuffy. Owen drove with both hands, knuckles white on the wheel, and the kids were in a happy daze. If not for the buzz of the radio on its lowest setting, the whole drive would have been silent.

He was waiting for her to say something.

But nothing came to mind. She was still missing a lot of pieces from her time away. She was searching for some kind of explanation for the bottle he had found in her bag. Dean would say something philosophical. It was so hard to grasp at the words.

"I barely remember what happened."

Owen glanced over, confirming that she had spoken, and frowning, "What?"

"I barely remember what happened when I was gone. It's just… a blur. A streak. But when I was in the hospital, when Mer and Alex and Shane came to see me… I had this nagging voice in my head. I knew I wasn't myself, but I couldn't… get back to me. Does that make sense?"

He shrugged, focusing on the road.

"I do want to get better, and stay better. I do."

"Why carry it around with you, then?"

"As a reminder, maybe. I don't know. I don't know." Cristina crossed her arms tightly, a new habit of hers, to contain what she felt.

He was quiet. It was driving her crazy.

"I'm sorry. I wish I was stronger."

He snorted, glancing at her again, the edge of a smile on his cheeks. He put his hand over hers, running a finger over her knuckles. "Cristina, you're the strongest person I know."

"Yeah, right."

Owen smiled. He squeezed her hand. "Besides, over the years I've learned… the people who never have to say no to their vices aren't strong, they're lucky. The strong ones have opportunity, and means, and motivation, and they still say no."

"I have to pee in a cup tomorrow, anyway, so I can prove-"

"You don't have to prove anything to me. I'm taking your word for it."

"You didn't believe me earlier. You gave me the disappointed coach eyes."

"I did believe you."

"But you-"

"I believed you." Owen glanced over once more, and she saw a flash of sadness in his eyes. "I wasn't mad, Cristina, I was scared. Seeing that bottle… I lost you last time. The thought of losing you again terrifies me."

She lost the argument she was about to make, and felt another stab of guilt. It was worse now than when she thought he didn't believe her. He was thinking about her time away, about the things he had gone through alone, for a time believing she was never coming back. It had been a year, and that wound was still raw.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"And for the record, I'm not disappointed. I'm proud of you."

Cristina smiled. "Thanks, coach."

XxX

It was late when they finally made it home. Cristina chose to keep Henry up front with her. She had the warm fuzzies inside after dropping Bailey off with his parents – she was a mom now, but she still loved seeing Meredith go all gooey for her kids. When she looked for someone to inspire her, to show her how a mom was supposed to act, that person was always Meredith.

Collin was wide awake, and after they had gotten the twins inside and tucked in, he demanded they go out and play. It was that lovely time when the sun stayed up late into the evening and he just couldn't wrap his little head around that deception.

He threw a tantrum, and spent half an hour lying on the living room floor screaming bloody murder, before he sunk into sleep and his father carried him to his room.

Cristina stayed on the couch, stretching out, enjoying the bit of soreness in her legs. It was the good kind – not the 'I've been standing for twelve hours performing surgery' legs, but the 'I took a nice walk with my family' legs. Owen joined her, pulled her legs into his lap, and massaged her calves, tipping his head back and heaving a big sigh.

For several minutes, nothing needed to be said.

And then he murmured, "When I was… when we first met, I thought pieces of me were missing. Do you remember that?"

"I do."

He watched her, those pretty blue eyes shimmering in the half-light pouring in from their bedroom. "I thought I would find them in the desert. I wanted to go back."

"I remember that."

"You were _pissed_."

"I was… upset."

He smiled. "I thought war was the only place I could be. I thought it was my only option. I thought life – civilian life – was impossible, because of the things I'd seen. But I was wrong."

"I feel like you're trying to impart wisdom."

"I'm trying to say that I get it. What you're going through. I may not have the exact experience, but I know what it's like to feel… incomplete."

"That's not…" Cristina sighed, realizing that was the best description anyone had given for how she felt. His words made her smile, and hope fluttered inside. "Maybe it is. Maybe that's what this is. But I don't know. I don't know."

He grabbed her thighs, and pulled her closer, so he could press a kiss to her cheek. It made her giggle, and he smiled, "What do you say we take this conversation elsewhere?"

Cristina slid into his lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck, "Not tonight. But you are welcome to give me a back massage."

Owen smiled in that sweet, humble way he had, and ran one hand down the side of her head. "Of course."


	4. The Visit

**Chapter 4.**

 **The Visit.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 10, 2019.**

She never thought she would be so conflicted over something so small.

But then again, she spent her entire career toying with little things like this. Valves. Vessels. Pacemakers. Patches. Dressing. Those things made sense to her. She knew what she was supposed to do with them, how to utilize them to benefit her patients, how to manipulate them in creative ways – how to fabricate them from a machine.

It was different with the chip.

It was a little thing, gold, standing out against the black coffee table. It had been sitting there for hours and miraculously remained. She refused to pick it up, and apparently her kids felt the same way about it. _Conflicted_. She knew it was heavy, and cold, and rough around the edges, like an oversized quarter, and that it was just a normal piece of metal. It was probably made in a factory somewhere far away. It had probably traded hands more than a dozen times. It was just a silly little coin with silly words printed on it.

But it was really irritating her.

She was going to stay sober. She already knew that. It was irritating because Dean found some greater purpose in giving it to her. Keeping it meant she was agreeing to his terms, to speak in front of the group Monday, so everyone could know about her issues. He was convinced that it was some miracle cure for all the muck in her head.

But he was wrong. He was wrong, and all she had to do to prove it was to stay sober and sane without talking, and to get rid of this stupid chip.

It sat there defiantly, challenging her to chuck it out the window.

"So are you gonna eat it, or…?"

Cristina jumped, a chill going through her body. Shane had snuck up on her. He was standing there, the door was closed, and two of her kids were sitting on the floor looking up at him. If he was a kidnapper, he would have been long gone.

She jumped up and pointed an accusing finger at him. " _You_! Don't do that!"

"Sorry. You looked focused. I thought you were doing something important until I saw you and your little… friend there."

Cristina glared down at the chip. "We are _not_ friends."

"Your door was unlocked, by the way."

She turned her glare on him, but it shifted into a smile. He had barely been by since moving back to the city. He spent all his time either revolutionizing medicine in that stupid research center – the one she gave him a glowing reference for – or decorating his new house in the suburbs. She was busy, too, and her rare nights in were usually occupied by Owen and the kids.

He smiled, too, and then sunk into a crouch, pulling a little chocolate bar from his pocket. He held it out beside him, keeping his eyes on Cristina.

Collin swooped in like a little bird of prey, took it from his hands, and sprinted for the bedroom, his little brother and sister hot in his heels. Henry paused his wiggling in the recliner to listen to their feet patter away.

Cristina gawked at her friend.

"Okay, no, really? One candy bar?"

"I should have brought three," he lamented.

"No. I don't give a crap if _they_ get one. _I_ want one!"

Shane laughed, rising and coming over to wrap her in a big bear hug. Over the years she had gotten used to hugging certain people, and he was one of those people. He had somehow made his way from her intern, to her protégé, to her best friend. But he didn't bring her any candy, so she slid her hand into his sleeve and pinched his underarm.

He yelped, releasing her, and gave a wry smile. "A gracious host, as always."

"You know how to get on my good side." Cristina flopped onto the couch, dragging him down beside her, and then curling up on his shoulder. It was like they were back in Switzerland, like they had braved a long day at the Institute together. She fixated on the coin again. "Do you know what that is, on the table?"

"A ten-year chip?"

"Satan. Small, circular Satan."

"Explain."

Cristina sighed, drudging up a summary of what he knew about her current situation. One of her clearest memories from her time away came from him. She showed up at his doorstep, high out of her mind, shattered inside. She was seeing visions of her father, trapped in some fantasy concocted by the mass of cells pressing on her brain, and she begged him to keep her secret. He might have done the wrong thing, letting her slip away that night, but she would never forget the way he looked at her. It gave her the impression that, apart from Collin and Owen, no one in the world could ever love her more.

But she had kept this stage from him, like she kept it from Owen. Her meetings seemed too intimate, too private, to share with anyone. Maybe, now that she had him back, she could unload some of this pressure on him.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Did I tell you about my sponsor?"

"No."

His voice was calm and quiet. When they lived together in Switzerland, he always gave her that tone, opening the room up for any kind of conversation. Babbling about nonsense kept their minds off of their doomed trial patients. He kept her sane.

"Well, I have a sponsor, in AA, and he's a jerk."

"Okay."

"So, he gives me this thing."

"Right."

"He wants me to… that's not important. But I don't want to do the thing he wants me to do. So I'm stuck with this chip."

"So give it back to him."

"I'm not going to meetings anymore."

"Since when?"

"Since this morning."

"You're not going to meetings because of this chip?"

"Yes."

"Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?"

"No."

He shifted, and put an arm around her shoulders, pointing to the chip. "Okay, well, whatever this thing is, it must be pretty damn hard to make you wanna give up this easy."

Cristina grimaced at his choice of words. "I'm not… giving up."

"But you are."

"I'm not."

"You _just_ said you were."

"I don't want to do the thing!"

"So don't. He can't make you."

"He can give me a disappointed look."

"Is that what you're scared of?"

Cristina shrugged.

"Last time I checked, you weren't scared of anything."

"Except plane crashes, and guns, and sinkholes."

He was quiet for a while, and then he lowered his voice into a sweet hum. "Did you know I was terrified of you when we first met?"

"Most interns are."

"No, I mean, really terrified. I had nightmares about you. You were a force of nature, like no one I had ever met. No one could make you do anything you didn't want to do."

"I know… but the thing is… about that thing he wants me to do. I feel like I _should_ do it."

Shane tightened his arm around her, and stretched out, resting his feet on the table. He avoided touching the chip, and watched it. "I could come with you, if you want."

Cristina sunk down, putting her feet up on the other side of the table, so the chip remained sitting between them, still mocking her. She only grunted at his offer, dismissing it out of hand.

"Offer stands, anytime," Shane murmured.

Cristina sighed, tapping the chip with her toe. "I think I might quit. But maybe not. I'll decide tomorrow."

"It does say 'one day at a time' on the rim."

"Whose side are you on?"

He responded effortlessly, without thought or hesitation. "Yours, always."


	5. Crutch

**Chapter 5.**

 **Crutch.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 11, 2019.**

"Just talk to me buddy. Say something. Say something, Col."

His son sat in his lap, gazing at his chest and toying with one of his buttons, without acknowledging being spoken to. He was growing every day, shifting rapidly from a toddler to a child. His face was leaner, he was losing his baby fat, his eyes were sharper, his hair was thicker, and his fine motor control was above average, but he was missing something crucial.

He was silent.

Derek watched him as well, a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "I see all the classic signs, Owen, and I really wish I didn't." He waved his hand, and said, "Collin. Collin. Can you look at me? Hey, look over here. Collin, buddy, over here."

Collin ignored him, happily in his own little world.

"Sudden absence of speech, avoidance of eye contact… not responding to his name."

"But he plays with Bailey, and he talks to Cristina sometimes, I think." Owen ran his hand over the boy's hair, flattening a wild curl. Collin ducked away from the touch.

Derek looked out over the yard, cracking another beer can open with his index finger. He worked less now that he was at the university, and read more, diversifying his knowledge. Owen had recruited him to assess his son several times, despite Cristina insisting there was nothing wrong with the boy. Derek disagreed. He had accumulated a wealth of knowledge on the subject. He loved Collin like an uncle. Both wanted what was best for the boy.

"Think about his early life," Derek said, sipping his drink, gazing thoughtfully at the child in question. "His mother didn't want him. He must have spent a lot of time alone, and his first interactions with a caregiver were negative."

"But Cristina adopted him. He was still a baby."

"You know as well as I do that the earliest interactions children have with their parents can shape how they perceive the world for the rest of their lives. Collin was cheated out of a basic trust for his caregivers. But right now, we can look away from the speech and the sensitivity to touch – not ignore them, but sideline them – and look at his attachment to Cristina."

Owen nodded. "If I had to pick one word, it would be 'obsessed.'"

"She was the first one who was there for him, the first person he could trust." Derek leaned forward for a moment, watching a butterfly skate across the railing, and then he returned to the conversation. "I think you should talk to Adham Farrah. I chose him for a reason. He has extensive experience in pediatrics, and Collin may have some residual trauma that's gone unresolved. Adham has worked with orphans and bombing victims all over the world."

Owen had a very short list of people he trusted unconditionally, and Derek was one of them, but when his son was involved the list got much shorter, the criteria stricter. He had known Dr. Farrah for almost a year and he already had a good opinion of the guy, and he would certainly take his advice when it came to Collin, but there was a big problem where he was involved.

"Cristina has a thing about him."

"A thing?"

Owen shrugged. "She hates his guts. That's a direct quote, by the way."

"Well, this should be fun."

Owen snorted. "Define fun."

"Oh, just you sneaking around behind her back, getting your kid assessed by a guy she hates. If your dinner tastes a little too sweet, you might wanna spit it out."

"Ha. I'll just keep an eye out for Cristina actually cooking something."

Derek smiled, shifting and looking into the house. "So, guess who showed up on our doorstep last night. I'll give you a hint: she wears her hair in pigtails."

Owen frowned. "What? Who?"

"Sofia."

"And…?"

"She was alone."

Owen was confounded. " _How_?"

"Apparently she was walking down the sidewalk after leaving her house, and a nice old lady stopped to see if she was lost. She told her _our_ address and the woman brought her here, dropped her off because she saw Meredith playing with the kids in the back. Sofia rang the doorbell."

"Where were Callie and Arizona?"

"Meredith tried calling – no one picked up. She drove Sofia home and found them screaming at each other in the house. They had no idea she was gone."

"Wow."

"Manny is a handful." Derek shifted, groaned, and stood up, glancing through the sliding door again. "Looks like Zola put Lexie under the laundry basket again."

"Scooby keeps using her brother to climb onto the counter."

"I caught Bailey sleeping with Zola the other night, and when I went to put him back in his bed, it was full of peanut butter."

Owen laughed, spreading his hands, " _Why_?"

"He said he didn't notice." Derek smiled, stretched, and opened the door, hovering halfway through it. "Zola, no. Get her out of that, now." He clasped Owen on the shoulder. "I should get back to running the circus. Besides, if we let the girls spend too much time together, they might realize they don't need us."

Owen scooped Collin up. "If we got a few tests done for Collin, would you-?"

"Of course." Derek paused, appearing very serious for a moment. "You don't even have to ask. Have them sent to my office at the university. Anything you need."

Owen nodded, content with that offer, and left with his son in his arms. Collin was much happier when he was back in his car seat, toying with plastic dinosaurs and ignoring the happenings of the world. Owen turned the music on and kept the kid in his rearview mirror, enjoying the way he bobbed his head to the beat.

He had not known him his entire life, like Cristina and Shane, and Colin cared less for him than he did for his mother, and Owen had biologic children with Cristina, and a needier child in Henry, but, somehow, Collin had taken the center of his heart. He was the core of it. He was the calm water in the middle of a storm. He was the consistency that helped Cristina keep her head on straight. He was the hug Owen came home to when Cristina was gone.

There was something about him, even when he wasn't talking, even when he threw a tantrum at being held, and shied away from his touch. Collin was special.

And Owen was going to do everything in his power to help him.


	6. The Bottle

**Chapter 6.**

 **The Bottle.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 12, 2019.**

When the emergency room had a moment of quiet, Owen left his resident in charge and headed upstairs. It had been a long day. Six patients came in after a car plowed down a sidewalk, and five of them were in the morgue now. He was already exhausted, because Henry had a stomach bug and vomited the whole night before, and he was running on a protein bar and two cups of orange juice, but, aside from medicine, one thing stuck to his mind.

Collin.

He found Adham Farrah in the lounge, eating steamed vegetables from a little plastic container. He looked just as tired and upset – three of those dead patients had been partially his – but he gave a smile anyway, persistently friendly. Owen had to wonder why Cristina hated him.

"Do you have a minute?" Owen asked.

"Of course." Adham took another bite, motioning to the chair across from him. "Sit. I got a call from Derek Shepherd this morning. He said you might need something from me."

"Yeah." Owen sat down, trying not to gaze at the broccoli. "It's a little… complicated."

"I have time." Adham smiled again.

Owen told him what he knew about Collin – from his birth to his current predicament. Cristina had given him a lot of details about how Phyllis treated him, mostly in the form of rants, and when it came to times they were together, Owen gave both sides of the story. He told him about his injuries, his coma, his obsession with his mother. Adham listened intently, sometimes stopping to ask questions, but never lifting that intense green gaze.

When the sad story was over, Adham slid the tray of vegetables across the table, and sipped some of his tea, rolling his wrist. "Eat. I can hear your stomach growling from here."

Owen almost turned it down, but the untouched compartment of broccoli was calling his name. He took another fork from the table and dug in. "Thanks."

"I will be happy to help with your son," Adham said, pulling a little notebook from the front of his lab coat and jotting a few things down. "I will need access to his medical records, if you can get the files from Switzerland. How do you think he would tolerate a CT and MRI?"

"Kicking and screaming."

"Right, well, if I can spend some time with him I can find a way to get him through it. I have a lot of experience with that. Getting children who have never seen technology before to lay in that big loud machine is a specialty of mine."

Owen finished the broccoli, and glanced at his notes. He was writing down names.

"Psychiatrists," Adham explained, tapping the first name on the list. "Depending on what the scans tell us, these are the ones I would like to consult. Most of them owe me favors."

"You don't have to-"

"Dr. Hunt, this is my passion." Adham smiled. "Helping children is my passion. If I can do something to help your son, I will do it. It is that simple."

Owen was at a loss for a moment. "Thank you. Really."

"Besides, it might help me mend whatever I did to irritate your wife."

"Well… it might be the opposite of that, actually."

Adham tipped an eyebrow, and then nodded. "I have found that denial is always the strongest when children are involved. We cannot possibly accept these horrible things that happen to them."

"How did you…?"

"Did you tell her you were going to talk to me?"

"No."

"I think, in that case, the first thing we need to do is break through to her."

"Easier said than done."

"I could talk to her. I could come by this evening, if you wanted me to."

"I do. I want you to have a chance to meet Collin." Owen stood, renewed by the small meal, and the simple plan Adham had laid out for his son. It was just a few steps, a few tests, a few promises, and some speculation, but it was _something_. It gave him hope. "I'll call Cristina right now. Let me get back to you."

He went to one of the couches, and Adham left the lounge. He hesitated, phone in hand, and tried to organize what he was going to say.

When she picked up, it all sort of came out at once.

"Hey, sweetie. We need to talk about Collin."

She was quiet for a moment, and then, "Okay."

"Okay. So I talked to Adham Farrah, and he wants to try a few tests."

Even more silence, and then, "What about Derek?"

"Derek suggested I talk to Adham."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Cristina-"

"I don't want him near Collin. End of story."

"No, not end of story." He felt the little bit of hope Adham had given him get squished, but he refused to let it go. "He wants to come over after work, and-"

"No, Owen! I don't want him here."

"It's not about him, it's about Collin. Can't you think about him? God, Cristina, half of his problems come from you leaving him. He wasn't like this before you disappeared. And I just want to help him get better. I would do anything to help him."

Cristina drew in a breath, and then the line went dead.

He sat there for a full minute before the gravity of what he had said sunk in.

Owen tried calling her back, but she ignored the call.

He rarely spoke of her time away. It shut her down. Sometimes she would say something candid, give him precious details, try to recall the things she had done, but those moments never painted a full picture. He should have kept his mouth shut about the effect it had on Collin, in the interest of keeping her on track. But he was tired, and it slipped out.

Owen tracked Adham down, and told him not to come that evening. When his shift ended, he headed home, and wondered what awaited him.

XxX

Cristina sat on the couch again, the chip on the left side of the table, and a bottle of whiskey on the right. She wasn't going to drink it. Not in a million years. But having it there gave her a strange sense of comfort. It was an escape. It was a sense of control, when her head was all messed up.

Her phone rang.

She got ready to reject it, expecting Owen again, but it was a number she had never seen before, and she dared to answer it.

His voice came through, "Dr. Yang?"

Cristina winced. "How did you get this number?"

"Dr. Hunt gave it to me."

"Dr. _Hunt_ is gonna get an earful."

"Why are you continuing with this petty avoidance?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Since you came here you have been avoiding me." He lowered his voice, and hissed, "I know that Henry is my son, and I want to see him, to know him, but this has nothing to do with that. I can accept your aversion to that – however much I disagree – but Collin needs help. _My_ help."

Cristina searched for a comeback, but those words took her off-guard.

"I know you must love your children, Dr. Yang, but right now you are not thinking of them. You are thinking of yourself."

Cristina hung up on him.

She took a deep breath. He was right. She refused to cross that bridge. It was a completely roadblock. She didn't want Owen to find out. She didn't want Adham anywhere near her son. The thought of it made her chest clench up.

She might have taken a drink, just to ease her anxiety, but her son beat her to it.

Collin came into the room, spotted the bottle, and grabbed it. He held it in both hands, and before she could snatch it away, he heaved it into the air.

It hit the ground beside the couch and shattered, liquid rolling in every direction, the awful and alluring smell of whiskey saturating the air. It sprinkled his toes, painted the side of the couch, and reached the door by the bedroom. It was so loud, and followed by such a sudden silence, that the twins, who had been playing with their toys in the corner by the front door, both froze. Henry started, tilted his head to listen, and then whimpered at the quiet.

Collin pointed at the soaked wooden floor and shouted, "Bad bottle!"

Cristina was stunned. For a moment she could only stare at the colossal mess he had made, and balk at the defiant look on his face. It was literally the first thing he had said to her in months, and he was looking right at her, his lip puffed out. He mimicked what she had done at the park, how she threw that smaller bottle into the river, the short statement she made to explain it to him.

She couldn't figure out if she was supposed to be happy, or upset, or torn apart by the terrible reality of this situation.

So she stood there, and Collin stood there, and the seconds ticked by.


	7. Remains

**Chapter 7.**

 **Remains.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 12, 2019.**

Cristina laid down a napkin perimeter, and gathered towels from the closet, spreading them across the mess and trying to contain it. She threatened the lives of any of the munchkins who dared step too close, and moved Henry to his crib, because the smell was becoming overpowering. Once she had a pile of wet towels and fragments of glass were still sprinkled all over ground zero, the mess seemed impossible to clean, and she ended up standing at the edge of it with Collin, her hands on top of her head, trying to decide if she should join him in his meltdown.

And then the door opened.

She turned, horrified, as Owen came inside. He caught the smell immediately, and grimaced, dropping his bags by the door and beholding the chaos. "What the hell…?"

"Owen!" Cristina wiped her hands on her jeans, but the smell remained, becoming noxious. "This is not what it looks like – er, what it smells like. I swear."

He came closer, nudging the twins back a few steps. "It smells like whiskey."

"It is whiskey. It was. A bottle of it. But I wasn't… I mean, I didn't have any. I just had it on the table, and Collin sort of… well, he threw it."

Owen stared at her, and then at the pile of towels, bewildered. "Cristina…"

"I know, I know. I shouldn't have had it in the first place. I know that." Cristina gave in and sulked up to him, laying her head on his shoulder. "I suck."

Owen put his arms around her reflexively. "You don't suck."

"I almost lost it." Cristina looked down, where her four-year-old was sitting and scowling at the mess he made. "Collin saved me."

Owen looked down at him, too. "He has a way of doing that."

Cristina pulled away, creeping around the mess and plucking the chip from the table. It was the only thing she could find to explain all of this, and it still seemed disjointed, like she was trying to distract from the mess she was in. She presented it to him. "Do you know what this is?"

He nodded, taking it and examining both sides. "Why do you have it?"

"Dean – er, my sponsor – gave it to me."

"Oh."

"He wants me to speak at the next meeting."

"I don't understand what that has to do with-"

"Since he gave it to me, I have had this… pressure inside."

Owen waited, his eyes flickering between her and the spill, trying to find the connection.

She took the chip back and slipped it into her pocket. "I bought the bottle last week. I was being rebellious. And every time something happens, every time it gets hard, I go right back to it. But I didn't drink it. I didn't."

"And Collin… smashed it?"

"Yeah. He saw me throw the bottle at the park."

Owen took a deep breath, his nose wrinkling as the alcohol invaded. "Okay."

"You keep saying that when stuff like this happens, and it's starting to worry me."

Owen grabbed the paper towels from the back of the couch, rolling a bunch out into his hand. "Honestly, Cristina, I don't know what else to say. Okay is my go-to word these days."

"I can do it," Cristina said, reaching for the roll, "You worked all day."

"I can handle this." Owen waved her off, his affect a little flat. It was hard to tell what he might be thinking, if he was angry, or confused, or just exhausted. It was probably a mixture of all those things, and she decided it was best to let him do his thing.

She scooped up the incredible kid and cradled him against her chest, pacing the open area by the door and trying to stop his screaming.

She hardly realized how long she had been walking when Owen finally stopped her, and her calves burned. He peeled her sleeping son from her chest and took him down the hall to his room, and she walked numbly to theirs, wondering if it was time for the lecture.

Owen came back in and shut the door, and put his hands on top of his head for a moment, watching her lie there on her side of the bed, and then he sighed.

He laid down, facing her, and reached between them, running his fingers down her shoulder, to her elbow, to her wrist. He was full of patience.

He simply whispered, "I love you."

Cristina was intensely relieved by those three words. It took the edge off of this crazy afternoon. She was a drunk bull stampeding around and Owen was the one patiently walking after her, waiting for her to be steady again.

She scooted closer to him, "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Well, I knocked you up, so hanging around was the right thing to do."

Cristina snorted. "Oh, yeah. No other reason?"

"Nope." He smiled, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her lips. "I said I was going to be here, every step of the way. I meant that. No matter how long it takes."

"You do realize when I… get better… I'll just be an asshole again, right?"

"Counting on it."

XxX

Meredith stirred from sleep and gazed at a jagged stain on the ceiling. It looked suspiciously like someone had sprayed the hose through the sliding door over the summer, and thought it might just dry and disappear. Or maybe they had a ghost. Either seemed plausible when her head was all fuzzy. She was under sedation from just a couple of glasses of wine, pleasantly warm inside, her head in her husband's lap, her back resting on a heating pad.

She yawned, turning a little to watch Derek flip through the TV. He was ignoring the shouting and laughing coming from down the hall.

"Morning, sunshine," he murmured, resting his hand over her neck, his thumb on her cheek.

Meredith smiled, stretched, and drew his hand over her lips, kissing his palm. "I was hoping I would wake up and all the kids would be grown up. Is that not what happened?"

"Close your eyes again. I'll make it happen."

She gazing at his face. Even after being married all these years, she never got tired of looking at him. He wasn't just handsome, he was _hers_. "I love you."

"I love you," he responded quietly.

"Did you hear anything from Callie?"

"No. I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"Good thing. They're caught up in each other. They wouldn't fight with Sofia there."

"You sure about that?"

Meredith grimaced. Callie and Arizona were having marital problems, dealing with the strain of having a disabled two-year-old in the house alongside their daughter. Meredith had insisted they leave Manny with her and Derek and take Sofia out for a girls' night – now the adorable little ball of blubber was sleeping in her chair, his disfigured hands hidden under his head. She really hoped everything was going well.

"Sofia just needs one night to be a princess," she said to Derek, reaching up to play with his curls – the curls he gave to her daughters. He kept his hair longer now that he was out of the OR. "I think they're gonna be fine."

He smiled at the touch, "Speaking of relationship issues, are we watching Sarah tomorrow night?"

"Alex is… sulking. So I don't know. And they don't have… issues."

Derek snorted.

"Hey, we have no room to judge. At least they're still _together_."

"That's not always a good thing."

Zola appeared at the edge of the couch suddenly, pulling her brother by the hand. She stopped, put a hand on her hip – a perfect imitation of Meredith when she was on a mission – and looked at her parents with all the seriousness an eight-year-old could muster. "Mommy, Daddy, he has something to say to you."

Meredith sat up, concerned by her tone. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Bailey squirmed under the scrutiny. "Nothing."

"Tell mommy what you told me," Zola demanded of him.

Derek leaned in over his knees, "What's wrong, buddy?"

Bailey kept those pretty blue eyes on the floor, and muttered, "Cristina and Owen were fighting."

Derek glanced at Meredith, and said, "Oh?"

"When we went to the park," the boy clarified, daring a glance up.

Meredith frowned. "Sweetheart, that was days ago."

"Collin said it's because of him."

Meredith felt a jolt. "Collin said that to you?"

"Yeah." Bailey fidgeted. "Is Collin gonna still be my friend?"

"Why would you ask that?" Derek asked, scooping the boy up and holding him in his lap.

"Ms. Gardner said he has to go away to a special school."

"Ms. Gardner from the daycare?" Meredith put her hand on his knee, and frowned when he nodded. He looked absolutely heartbroken. "Baby, Collin isn't going anywhere."

Bailey sniffled and started rubbing his eyes, "She said Cristina and Owen are gonna get a divorce and move away and Collin can't be my friend anymore!"

"Oh, no, my baby," Meredith said, taking him under the arms and cradling him. She kissed his head. "That's not true. That's not true."

"But they were fighting!"

"People fight sometimes." Meredith looked at Derek, trying to convey the appropriate amount of anger and concern. She stroked her son's curly hair down. "Sweetie, did Ms. Gardner tell Collin they were fighting because of him?"

Bailey nodded.

Derek stood up. "First call to Owen, second to the hospital." He took Zola by the hand. "You're such a good big sister. I think you deserve an ice-cream sandwich."

Zola was proud of herself, "I don't need anything. I don't like it when Bailey's sad and I don't think Ms. Gardner was being very nice."

"You're absolutely right about that," Derek said to her.

Meredith tightened her hold on Bailey, giving him another reassuring kiss. "Ms. Gardner shouldn't have said those things to you, sweetie. I'm sorry she scared you. I'm glad you told me. You're such a good friend to Collin. I'm so proud of you."

He shifted around, giving a hesitant smile, "So Collin can still be my friend?"

"Yes, he can."

Bailey nodded, confirming that to himself, and then he took her hand and toyed with her wedding ring. "Can _I_ have an ice-cream sandwich?"

"Of course you can." Meredith carried him into the kitchen and set him on the table, shadowed by his big sister. She must have changed her mind about wanting that reward, now that her brother was getting one. Meredith indulged them both, and hugged her daughter, glowing with pride for the smart kid she was turning into. She used to joke about how much like her Zola was, but in moments like these she saw Derek shining through – his persistent passion, his warmth.

She watched him pace on the back deck. He was probably on the phone with Owen. He looked more than miffed. Meredith should have been a little angrier herself, but being able to explain things to Bailey made it easier to forgive. She only hoped they could clarify it to Collin. He was in that age group that had a hard time placing and understanding blame.

Her mind went to the beginning of that conversation, though, and she wondered about Owen and Cristina. Sometimes they were really good at hiding their own problems, but lately they seemed fine. No signs of fighting. Cristina hadn't said anything about it.

She wondered if Collin was really the reason they were arguing, or if it was about Henry, or something else Cristina had neglected to share with her.

Regardless, it was too much for a four-year-old to shoulder.


	8. The Chip

**Chapter 8.**

 **The Chip.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 15, 2019.**

When the call came for someone to speak, she had every intention of staying silent.

She had spent the day thinking about it, assuring herself that it was a silly thing to do, and an even sillier thing to get so worked up about. But that fear inside did not come from the chip burning a hole in her pocket, or the sad, lonely faces of people she wished she never met, or from the fear of public speaking, something she had been doing since she was a kid – it came from the fear of what might happen afterwards, when she sat down, and those words stuck with her.

She knew what she felt. She had worked it all out, labeled it, stuck it in files in her head. Hearing it out loud was a different story, and from her own mouth, in her own voice.

Something made her stand up.

Something made her walk up the aisle, her eyes on the podium, that chip in her hand. For a moment she tried to pretend that she was the only person in the room, and it worked until she stopped up front, until she set that chip down and looked out at the room.

In this place, there was an unspoken rule that everyone shouldn't stare at the speaker at once. It was supposed to be a safe space, a place without burden or judgement.

But they was staring right at her, _into_ her, as she worked up the muster to speak.

Cristina cleared her throat.

"My name is Cristina… and I'm an alcoholic."

Like they did every Monday, for every person who came up here, the crowd responded in a monotone, "Hi, Cristina."

She swallowed, deriving a strange peace from that sound. Her nerves settled, just a fraction, and she took a deep breath. She could do this. She could definitely do this. Her fears and worries about this moment seemed so ridiculous now that she was here.

"Dean asked me to come up here," she said at last, gripping both sides of the podium, and looking frequently down at the chip resting in the center. "He thought it might help. But that remains to be proven…" She caught his eye as he stood there in the back of the room, propped against the doorframe. He was watching the floor, and he nodded at her words.

She looked at Shane, too, and found him watching the seat in front of him. He came for moral support, or as a pawn to pay for dinner. She couldn't put a finger on why she brought him.

Until now.

"I used to get drunk a lot." Cristina fixated on her chip, trying to find the flow the other speakers had when they came up here. "Just for fun, just to get over a bad day. Normal stuff. But there was something wrong with me a while ago, and I… I thought I had control. But alcohol was the only thing that… helped."

She slid the chip over the podium, holding it in her palm, and taking another steadying breath.

"I cheated on my husband, and left him alone with our kids for months. And I didn't even feel bad about it. I didn't feel… anything about it. Until I found out I was pregnant."

Shane finally looked up, something like concern in those big brown eyes of his.

Like a gate swinging open, flashes of her brief life in exile came back to her, and swelled through her head, coming out in an unfiltered mess.

"I remember hotel rooms, and bars, and pills. Lots of pills. I think I spent… most of every day just trying to escape that feeling. I reached this threshold, this point, where I knew I couldn't climb back up. I knew it. So I kept going… down. Later, I was told I was found in a hotel in Lyon, strung out on the floor in the bathroom and in labor. Somehow the baby managed to keep growing."

She had tears on her face, but it was more relief than pain. She pieced together the things she had been missing, the words that went unspoken to Owen, to Meredith, to anyone and everyone in her life. It seemed so insignificant, until she was standing up here.

"I was still drunk when my best friend got to the hospital, and the way she looked at me… I can't forget it. Never. Because it didn't occur to me yet that I had flown off the deep end. I was drowning. And I've _been_ drowning every day since I got sober. I just want that… freedom again. I look at what I did to my baby, what I did… Every day I go home and look at him, and take care of him, and I know that if I had just stopped thinking of myself just once, things could have been different. He might be able to look back at me."

Cristina was shaky, but she made it to the edge of the stage. She took the first two steps just fine, but the third tripped her up. Dean was there, magically, to keep her from falling.

She pressed the chip into his hand. "I'm never doing that again."

He nodded, and put his hand on her shoulder. "You did great. How do you feel?"

"Numb."

She made her way back down the aisle and into the hall, picking up the pace and trying to get to the doors. But she lost her composure halfway there and had to stop.

Shane was following her. He stopped, too.

Cristina let a whimper slip out. "Oh, God, what have I done?"

Shane came closer, running a hand over her back. "You made a mistake, and you have the rest of your life to make it up to Henry."

Cristina turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, letting one sob out, and then another. He held on tightly, unmoving, and they stayed that way, in the quiet of the hallway, with the hum of another voice and the smell of coffee coming through the open doors. He might have been thinking of those words all day, rehearsing them in the mirror, trying to get the tone right – or, somewhere along the line, he had grown up, and she had missed it.

When she finally let him go, the pieces came back together. She felt better. She had never imagined standing at that podium would be such a relief.

"Thank you for coming, Shane."

"Anytime." He smiled, and glanced back down the hall. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Yes. I hate it in here."

They walked out together, into a warm night, and a quiet parking lot. She went to his car, but wondered if she could really eat a meal with her stomach bubbling this way.

"Do you remember what happened while you were gone?"

His question came when they were halfway to the restaurant, and it caught her off-guard.

"What?"

"You said you remembered some things. I wondered if it was coming back."

"No. Not really. Just flashes. Dreams, sometimes. I remember a lot of places, a lot of people."

"Your blood tests did come back a little… exotic."

She hummed, watching the road flash by beside the car.

"Do you remember coming to my apartment?"

"Yeah. I was… that was before… after I left San Sebastian."

"Do you remember coming by before then?"

"No…?"

Cristina racked her brain, trying to figure out what he meant. She came up blank.

"It was early January, I think."

Cristina sat straight up, waving her hand. "Oh, oh, yeah! We just left Port Said. Where were we going? Syria! Um, Damascus."

"You were a little drunk."

"I was a _lot_ drunk." Cristina laughed, and then quieted, realizing that was not something to be so proud of. "But I remember it. We watched Ghost Busters on the couch while Teddy sulked."

"Right. She was fighting with her husband… Drew?"

"Dante."

"Did that work out…?"

"Well, they're still together. So I guess." Cristina became more apprehensive, reaching for the edges of the night that escaped her. "Why bring it up?"

Shane glanced at her, looking a little guilty. "You said something that I should have caught, about your drinking. And you said it again tonight. You talked about being in control, but you obviously weren't. I should have-"

"Whoa, no." Cristina held up a hand until he buttoned it. "We're not doing that. No more guilt and regret and whatever. We turned over a new leaf tonight. What happened back there, stays back there, okay?"

"But I-"

"New leaf."

"We should-"

"Happens back there."

"I could have-"

"Stays back there."

Shane paused, and smiled, shrugging. "Fine." He was quiet for a record fifteen seconds, and then he added, "I'm proud of you, by the way, for getting up there tonight." When she said nothing, he poked her in the shoulder. "Do you have another goal in mind? Skydiving?"

"Not skydiving. But I have a goal… I think."

"Good."

"You're not gonna ask what it is?"

"I don't need to know."

"But you're so nosy."

"Coming from the woman who jacked my laptop yesterday."

"I wanna know all about this Katrina chick."

Shane laughed. "Maybe not nosy. More like controlling."

"You know, they named a hurricane Katrina."

"I am aware of that."

"So she might be bad news, on principal."

"I'm gonna take you back to the meeting. Keep it up."

"Seriously, I just worry about you. You're so vulnerable."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're delicate."

"For the sake of our friendship, I think this conversation is over."

"Don't be like that."

"Cristina."

"I'm just trying to help."


	9. The Reminder

**A/N: Expect more chapters tonight and tomorrow. I can't stand leaving you guys on a sad note. You know, I write them out, and I plan to stagger them, but then I just get excited about posting them and we end up with a barrage of chapters. Do you prefer it this way, or do you want me to stick to designated days for posting?**

 **Chapter 9.**

 **The Reminder.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 20, 2019.**

Henry waved his arms around in the water, smiling reflexively when it rode up on his little chest, and battering it with his outstretched hands. Like little ravines, his scars ran, stem to stern, clearly showing the places he had been split open, and sewed back together again. In a perfect world those surgeries would have been done laparoscopically, but his sudden, violent entrance into the world had warranted sloppy work just to keep him alive.

She was grateful for it, but she hated seeing him like this. She almost passed the bath off to Owen some nights, because she got lost tracing those scars, and looking into those unresponsive brown eyes, but the thought of explaining her aversion to Owen was much scarier.

Who could not stand to look at their own baby?

Cristina had not been lucid at the time, but the poor kid had undergone almost thirty surgeries to reconstruct his intestines, stop the bleeding in his brain, and replace deformed valves in his heart. It all showed. She knew where every surgery started, and where it stopped. She could identify each scar, and maybe even the surgeon who gave it to him.

It was a pointless exercise, but one she performed every time she found herself here. Henry was happy. Dean had already warned her against being ashamed for having a happy baby. But there was no preventing it, no avoiding it.

"Okay, time to get out." Cristina pulled the plug, and stood Henry up, wrapping a towel around him and scooping him out of the sink. He tried to grab the faucet to stay in, and squealed in protest when she peeled him off. He loved water. He would have sat in that sink all night and turned into a prune if she let him.

Owen met them at the bedroom door, taking the wet baby from her arms and smiling. "Favorite part of the bath – the aftermath."

Cristina smiled, happily handing the kid over and flopping onto her side of the bed. She had worked all day. Somehow she had managed to scrub in on twelve different surgeries before even taking her lunch break, and it felt glorious. It was the good kind of tired, where she knew she had accomplished something meaningful for the day, and she was ready to turn in.

Her husband laid down beside her, scrubbing Henry's curls until they were reasonably dry, strapping him into a diaper, and turning him loose. He flipped around between them, squealing each time a hand came in to tickle him.

Cristina was smiling at him, freed momentarily from the guilt she got from looking at him, when her bedmate spoke up, dampening her mood.

"Can we talk about Collin again?"

It had been a few days since he brought it up. Both of them had busy lives – in the hospital and at home – and avoiding talking about something was easy. But it was time. Cristina had been mulling it over in her head and she knew he wasn't going to drop it. She knew Collin needed all the help he could get. But she couldn't let Adham in her house. She just couldn't.

So she compromised.

"Okay."

Owen cocked an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"I'll take Collin to the hospital to see Dr. Farrah."

He looked cautious, and then he brightened. She loved to see that youthful light in his eyes. "Great. I can set up something with him tomorrow. Do you want me to-?"

"Probably not a good idea."

Owen's jaw clicked, and he frowned. "Oh. Right."

"He just… Does better when it's just me and him."

"I know."

Cristina sat up, running her hand through his hair. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and then his lips, smiling against them, "Collin _loves_ you. He just…"

"I know." Owen returned her smile. "I just wish he loved me as much as he loves Ross."

Cristina laughed. She grabbed Henry and set him on her stomach, cuddling up into Owen's arm. "There is goes again. The jealousy is astounding."

"I'm just saying, if he ran up and hugged me when I got home, I wouldn't complain."

"Shane bribes him."

"I shouldn't have to bribe my kid to hug me."

"I recall you bribing me for sex on many occasions."

Owen grinned, stretching out and making dad-bear noises until Henry started giggling. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Cristina tilted her head up, meeting his lips with a few soft, sweet kisses. "Whatever is going on with him, it'll get better. You just have to give him time."

Owen grabbed Henry by the arm and dangled him above them both, making him startle, and then giggle. Cristina loved the way Owen looked at him – the way he looked at all their kids – with this open, raw adoration. But his eyes darkened as he thought about their oldest, and his words came out a little grim. "It might not be that simple."

He had been pushing the idea that Collin was autistic for weeks. He slipped it into conversations every now and then, left literature on the table, pointed out odd behaviors, but he was dancing around it. He seemed unwilling to say it, even after he started the discussion.

Cristina wasn't in the mood to get into it. She never would be, because Owen was wrong. He was wrong, and he refused to accept it.

She was willing to accept a lot of things – Adham examining her son, the secret she was keeping about Henry, the terrible things she had done in the past. Owen wanted her to think Collin would never recover from his regression. It might have been easier that way, but the two of them had never done things easily. Collin was born unwanted. He had a pronounced limp. His right leg was deformed from an injury in his infancy. Together, they had overcome so much already.

Cristina was not going to give up on him now.


	10. The Baby

**Chapter 10.**

 **The Baby.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 21, 2019.**

Cristina walked down a familiar halfway, hand-in-hand with her son, and tried to swallow the anxiety building up inside. It had been almost a year since she came home, and she had been avoiding this man very effectively. It was easier at work, where their professional interactions gave little room for discussion of their encounter in Port Said, when she could scrape him off on her coworkers, but this was different. She had no residents to throw at him now.

She hated that. She hated being afraid just to talk to someone. She missed being a ball of fire that streaked up and down these halls, owning every conversation, dominating every OR. She wanted that version of herself back, and that desire was what brought her here today.

It was time to face it. It was time to get it over with.

Cristina stepped into an exam room and sat in the chair by the little table in the corner, nodding to the neurosurgeon, who hovered by the sink. He smiled, bringing the chart to the table and sitting in the backless rolling chair across from them. He set the chart down gently, diagonally, so they could both see it. His notes were scrawled into every inch of free space.

She was taken off-guard by how much preparation he had done for this meeting.

"Good morning," he greeted, nodding to Collin, who paid him no mind, and then to Cristina. He showed no sign of hostility, despite how long she had been evading him. "Dr. Hunt has already discussed his history with me, but I want your account as well, from the beginning."

Cristina had not expected it to be so easy to sit here with him. She started talking, and the words flowed out. Collin played with the hem of her shirt, and Adham watched him closely, but caught everything she said. He jotted some things down, amendments to what Owen had told him, and sometimes made her pause so he could ask about a behavior, about a memory.

When she got to the present, to the sudden decline in social functioning her son was experiencing, he had more questions.

"Dr. Hunt told me Collin is obsessed with you. What is your opinion on that?"

Cristina disliked that word, and the way he kept using it. "He has this separation thing. He wants to be near me all the time."

"What happens if you force separation?"

"He screams like a banshee."

"For how long?"

"Until he throws up." Cristina ran her hand reflexively down his back, recalling some of his worst episodes, the ones that made it apparent there was something going wrong inside his head. "I told you about that time he shut down for two days. He wouldn't eat or drink. We had to admit him because he was dehydrated."

Adham jotted a note in the folder. "Dr. Hunt has also said Collin avoids him. Is this true?"

"He doesn't avoid him. He just… If Owen picks him up and surprises him, he has a freak attack."

"A freak… attack?"

"He cries. A lot." Cristina tried to lean in to see what he was writing. "He sees him every day, though. Sometimes he's fine with him. Sometimes he's not."

"And he mentioned another man… a Dr. Ross?"

Cristina groaned. "That's irrelevant."

"Dr. Hunt didn't seem to think so."

"They sort of have this thing. It's complicated. Owen doesn't him."

"How close are you with this friend?"

Cristina bit her tongue. "What are you trying to imply?"

Adham looked up from his notes, seemingly surprised by that reaction, and then he looked down again. "I am not implying anything. I was just wondering if your son is mimicking your perception of others. He reacts coldly when you do. He reacts warmly to others because he watches you."

"Owen is one of the only people I'm nice to."

"I have other theories – three of them, so far." Adham sat back, drawing the folder into his lap and watching Collin while he spoke. "Understand that, as we move forward, more may arise, and these may be shut down, but as it stands right now these are my best explanations for his behavior. One, he has developed Reactive Attachment Disorder, as characterized by his limited social and emotional responsiveness, this flat affect he is displaying, and these episodes of fear, anger, and anxiety you and your husband have described. If you reference the DSM-5, it can give you-"

"Yeah, yeah. His psychiatrist has been harping on that one. What do you do to cure that? Therapy? We tried that already."

Adham nodded thoughtfully. "Therapy is an option, but not something I would choose for him. Seeing him now, my recommendation would be to just live life as you are. Children with this disorder can 'recover,' in a sense, by forming lasting, loving, positive relationships with their caregivers, and you two are already on that track."

Cristina nodded, hoping it could be something so simple. But at the same time, if that were really the case with Collin, she would have no means of fighting this. She could only hope he would slowly get better. She wanted something she could fight, something they could conquer.

"What are your other ideas?"

"Some sort of chemical imbalance in his brain, caused by trauma when he was a baby may be responsible for some of his anxiety and his inappropriate outbursts. If we could understand this imbalance we might be able to correct it. My third theory is more of a medley of possible starting points – the prominent one being schizophrenia."

Cristina balked at him. "You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all. The way we perceive the world and the way a four-year-old perceives the world are extraordinarily different." He paused for a moment, taking in her expression, and then he shut the folder. "But those are just preliminary. History-based. I have ordered a complex blood panel, but delayed the scans for now. If the blood gives me nothing, we'll move forward with that."

Collin looked up at last, his eyes on the curly black hair bouncing around on Adham's head, and it almost seemed he would investigate, but he cast his eyes down instead.

Adham gazed at him, thoughtful. "I have a lot of hope for him."

Cristina stood up, readjusting her son in her arms, and she was one step away from leaving. Everything had gone well. She had worked herself up for nothing. Her insides were uncoiling, giving her room to breathe, room to be brave.

She stopped and set Collin on the exam table, looking right at Adham.

"We should talk about Henry."

His eyes lit up.

He turned his chair, leaning over his knees, training those gorgeous green eyes on her, his expression so bright and hopeful that she had to wonder if he had been thinking about that little boy during this whole session.

For the first time, she found him stumbling over his words.

"Yes, we should. We should talk about him. I want to see him."

It had long-since been established that Adham Farrah knew Henry was his son. It was all about the timing, and he was a very smart man. He had kept it to himself so far, trying, unsuccessfully, to talk to her about it, but this conversation had never been breached.

Cristina grasped at what she wanted to say.

"I know."

He smiled.

She smiled, strangely, and caught herself, trying not to get infected with his joy. "Henry is blind. He has asthma. He has three surgeries scheduled between now and December."

Adham lost his smile, "Are you trying to dissuade me?"

"I want you to know what you're getting into."

"He is my _son_." Adham stood up, leaning against the counter, appearing too antsy to sit down. "I want to know him. I want to be a part of his life."

"Okay."

It was anticlimactic. It was not at all what she expected it to be. When that word came out, when she modeled that annoying answer Owen had been giving her, a huge burden was lifted from her.

Adham began to argue, "You have no right to-" and then he seemed to realize what was said, and his face brightened. He surveyed her, assessing her seriousness, and hope crept into his expression. "I can…? When can I meet him?"

"I can bring him by your place sometimes. We could meet at the park, maybe."

"Cristina, you cannot imagine how much this-"

"Owen can never know."

He stopped, conflicted, "What?"

"You can see Henry, but Owen can never know."

"But he-"

She felt more like herself, and suddenly that was the worst way she could feel. She was the best at being cold. "Weigh your options. I'm giving you a chance to see Henry, but if this ever makes it to Owen, you will never see him again."

He locked his jaw, thrown by her tone, but unwilling to let go of the hope she had given him. He was firm in his choice. "I do not understand why… but I will not tell him. You have my word."

Cristina picked Collin up. "I'll take him now to get the blood sample. As far as Owen is concerned, we are not friends. We barely know each other."

Adham nodded dutifully, looking quite young all of the sudden. He had a brand new burden.

Cristina stepped into the hall, pulling the door shut behind her. She knew she would have to tell Owen eventually, that lying was the worst solution to a complicated problem, but for the moment she was relieved. Henry would get a chance to know his biological father, Owen would still have peace of mind that she had not slept with his coworker, and Collin was going to get the help he needed. It was a tattered puzzle, but the pieces were finally starting to come together.


	11. Exceptional

**Chapter 11.**

 **Exceptional.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 21, 2019.**

Cristina set another empty Oreo on the plate in front of her, and the sound of the cookie hitting the glass brought three miniature people straight to the table. Evelyn got to it first, taking the top half and passing the bottom half to her twin. Collin arrived last and went for the bag instead, giving her a faint, adorable smile until she surrendered a fresh one.

Her company gave her an odd look.

She explained, "Collin is the only kid in this house that knows Oreos have cream in them. Noah and the Kraken are blissfully unaware, so Momma gets the good stuff."

"Deplorable," Shane commented, but he was smiling. It was impossible not to, because he had the runt of the litter in his arms. Henry was gnawing hardcore on his little rubber teething ring, kicking his legs in a steady pattern against the Oreo container. He liked the crinkling sound it made.

Cristina grabbed another cookie, licked the cream out, and set the chocolate pieces on the plate. "You say deplorable, I say innovative."

He cocked an eyebrow, but changed the subject. "Anyway, Oakland said you can pick any time for your interview, which I think is complete crap because I had to come in at midnight on a Saturday and sit in front of a board of directors to get grilled for two hours."

"Perks come with the prestige, young one." Cristina patted the top of his head. "One day you might have swagger like me."

Shane plucked Henry up by the underarms, helping him stand in his lap. He could stay upright with someone keeping him balanced for almost thirty seconds now, but walking was out of the question until he got better at crawling. His little legs were just starting to get stronger. He spoke to the baby, "When your crazy mommy comes to work at the lab, she's gonna give Uncle Shane a hard time just like she did in Zurich, isn't that right?"

Cristina yawned, waving that comment off. " _If_ I come work at the lab, I want to get my feet on the ground with these new trials, and dig into new territory. I'm not your boss anymore, Shane."

"I know that." Shane made a face, wiggling Henry around and making him giggle. "I _know_ that. Yes I do. I do know that. Yes, I know that."

"You're gonna make him throw up." Cristina passed Collin another Oreo, and then scooped him into her lap, holding onto him while he munched.

Her reasons for wanting to switch jobs were different depending on who she was talking to. Meredith thought she was burned out from taking so many extra surgeries and dealing with her kids. Owen thought something similar, but she told him she wanted to spend more time at home, on a regular schedule, and he ate it up. She told April she was tired of her stupid, sunshiney face. She told Callie she wanted to focus on research. Shane wanted to work with her again, to follow in her footsteps a little while longer despite earning his place as a surgeon long ago.

But there was one definitive reason she had left out. She was worried about her son, worried about the little boy in her arms. When she was younger she thought nothing would ever be more important to her than her career, but Collin had clawed his way up that mountain and now her concern for him clouded her ability to do her job.

It wasn't all bad. Since its inception, the research facility, barely a block from the hospital, had garnered national recognition as one of the most innovative and cutting-edge surgical research centers in the country, soon to be the world. She would not perform less surgery there, per say, but her schedule would be more nine-to-five than the hospital. She would assign patients in those hours, and work on clinical trials, and publish papers, and train clinical researchers. In the coming years she planned to develop new, safer techniques using all she had learned as she traveled the world with Teddy. She had so much bumping around in her head, so much potential.

She ran a hand through Collin's hair, imagining all of those incredible things, but coming back to her hopes for him. There was no point in making medical breakthroughs if she couldn't help her own son. Being home more would be a step in the right direction.

"What are you thinking about?" Shane balanced Henry on his knee, and gazed at the boy, his eyes deep and thoughtful. His voice had shifted from playful to serious.

Cristina shrugged. "The future, I guess."

"Me, too."

"Can we try something?" Cristina sat up, holding her arms out for Henry. "Switch kids."

Shane grabbed Collin and tugged him over to his lap, and Cristina took Henry. She watched, confounded, when Collin looked right at her friend, no sign of a meltdown. He just grabbed another Oreo and relaxed, munching away.

"I think the Oreo might be contributing," Shane pointed out.

Cristina snorted, wondering if Adham was right about how Collin reacted to people. But why would he be so wishy-washy toward Owen? For at least the last six months, Cristina and Owen had barely fought, and when they did it was over quickly. She cuddled with him on the couch, sexually harassed him while he tried to cook dinner, chased him around with the water hose, painted his cheeks with nail polish while he was sleeping – this house was not full of malice. It was full of love. So where was he getting this fear from?

"How was your date with Adham Farrah?"

Cristina winced. "Ugh."

"That bad?"

"No. Not… bad. Just… ugh."

Shane was one of the only people who knew that Adham Farrah was Henry's father. She told him impulsively, because she told him _everything_ , and he was the only person she could vent to. He took it all in, always offering to duke it out with the other man on principal.

"He wants to see Henry, and I… said he could."

Shane frowned, his eyes flickering to the little scrap in her arms, and then back to her. " _Why_?"

"I don't know. He just seemed so sad. I wish he hadn't come here. I wish there was some way around this, but there's not. I can't just… I can't keep Henry from his father."

Shane snorted, "Sure you can. I'll help."

"Too late."

"Does that mean you're gonna tell Owen?"

"Adham promised to keep it between us. So no. He doesn't need to know."

"I'm almost positive that's on the list of things he should know."

"This would be so much easier if you were the father."

"Whoa. No. I don't wanna be your baby-daddy."

Cristina laughed at his expression. "Can you imagine what Owen would do to you?"

"Is that why you're not telling him about Dr. Farrah?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. It's all just… weird."

Her cellphone rang, and Henry startled in her arms. She passed him back to Shane and hopped up to answer it, giving him the 'one minute' sign. He dumped Collin onto the couch beside him and took the baby, looking at him very seriously, eyebrows down and all.

Cristina whacked him on her way to the door. "Stop that."

Owen was on the line. "Stop what?"

"Sorry. Not you. What's up?"

His voice was calm and kind, but there was an underlying tension, like he was expecting the conversation to go sour. "How was it today?"

No wonder he was worried.

"It was okay. Dr. Farrah didn't say anything about autism. Reactive Attachment Disorder was his first idea, but they took some blood so we'll hear back in a week or so."

"So you… did okay? Collin did okay?"

"Yep. We both kept our cool kid hats on." She wished he wasn't so worried, but she couldn't blame him. She hadn't taken this Adham thing so well until now. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Are you on the way home?"

"Yeah."

"Well, when you get here, how about we all go out to dinner, as a family? We never do that."

"We never do that because you always say no."

"That's because Scooby is the antichrist. But we should go. Really." Cristina waited, and sighed at his hesitation. "Don't be a baby. How bad can she possibly be?"

"No, that's not why I… I talked to Adham earlier and he asked for our permission to come to the house sometimes to do a case study on Collin. I told him I would talk to you about it."

If he kept up their agreement, she had nothing to worry about.

But she still felt a lump forming in her throat. "Um…"

"We can talk about it later. That's fine. Dinner sounds great. I think we should find someone to watch Henry, though."

Noise was a problem for her youngest son. He was blind, so he focused very hard on his other senses. In crowded restaurants, or when his sister was caterwauling in his ear, the overstimulation could cause a physiologic reaction. He could spike a fever like no baby she had ever met.

When she hung up with Owen, she leaned over the back of the couch and whispered to Shane, "So… what are you plans for the night?"

He laughed. "You want me to watch him, don't you?"

"When Owen gets home, just make it seem like you just got here."

"Why?"

"He's not overly fond of you."

"Ahh."

"But he'll take the free babysitting."

"Free? I don't recall-"

Cristina put her hands on his shoulders, "How much do you love me?"

"As long as I don't have to watch Kujo."

Cristina plucked Collin off of the couch cushion, heading back to his room. She spoke to Shane while she picked out an outfit. "No, the Swamp Thing is coming with us."

"What do you think of Baby Norman Bates?"

"I'm partial to Voldemort."


	12. Sponsor

**Chapter 12.**

 **Sponsor.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 22, 2019.**

Cristina straddled Owen's lap, toying innocently with his hair while he gave her this serious, thoughtful look. She knew what he was thinking. Am I forgetting something? But she made it hard for him to pinpoint it. She did her best to be alluring, without acting suspicious, in the hopes that his libido would outweigh his critical thinking skills.

But once he got something in his head, nothing could distract him. His brain closed like a steel trap. He had a hard, analytical mind, like all surgeons, making him a master at filtering out the nonsense to get to the fleshy truth. In this case, it was the date and the time.

When it occurred to him, he smiled. "You should get ready to go."

Lately they had been able to talk about her meetings to an extent. He expressed his support each and every day, offered to drive her, wanted to cook for her on the nights she went out, insisted on protecting Monday like it was this sacred, precious thing. He knew she was trying to slide out of it tonight and instead of being angry, he was amused.

It was the little things that mattered to her.

But she wasn't so distracted by his smile that she forgot her mission. She leaned over, pressing kisses to his jaw, "Whatever do you mean?"

"Where was all this enthusiasm two hours ago?"

"It comes and goes."

He smiled again, disarmingly, and grabbed her hands, stopping them from roving down his chest. "Monday night, almost seven. Seems like you should be somewhere."

"Not tonight. Church flooded. Big catastrophe. Dozens dead."

He cocked an eyebrow.

Cristina pouted.

She would have come up with another excuse, a better one, but her phone rang. She winced at the name and answered in her ditzy voice. "Hello?"

Dean sounded characteristically peppy. He had really missed his calling as a life coach. "Good afternoon. Did you get a late start on your way to the meeting?"

Owen shook his head, whispering, "Shame on you."

Cristina groaned. "Uh, no. I just have a flat tire. Four. Four flat tires."

"Is that the best you can do?"

"…traumatic amputation?"

Owen laughed. "So sad."

"Shut it." Cristina tugged one of his chest hairs, hopping out of his lap and going to the window. Just as she expected, her sponsor was sitting outside in his little red SUV. He took his job very seriously. Cristina waved at him, said to the phone, "Give me five minutes," and then muttered to herself, "You little stalker."

Owen came up behind her as she hung up, wrapping her up in a bear hug. "Night off, huh?"

"We can just use the corpses to role play, I guess." Cristina wiggled out of his hold, sulking all the way to the bedroom. "I hate going to these meetings. I think I hate it more than Maggie Pierce. Now _that_ is saying something. Steal my job? I hate you. Report me to the chief for 'harassment.' I hate you. Make me listen to people whine about their lives? _Shoot me_."

Owen followed her, sitting on the corner of the bed, smiling and nodding along with her narrative.

"I swear, Owen, you would go postal in this place. If _Hell_ had a conference room. If they stocked it with stale donuts and burned coffee."

"Is that what you smell like when you get home? I wondered."

"No, that smell is desperation." Cristina struggled into her jeans, falling back onto the bed for support. She spoke between tugs, "If I… have to listen… to one more… stupid story… God, did you put these in the dryer?"

He shrugged. "You've been stress-eating."

Cristina glared at him.

Owen laughed. "I found the wrappers."

"You swore not to speak of it."

"Look, just get through tonight."

Cristina headed out, grabbing things as she went – stash of candy bars, wallet, a tiny little Superman jacket. She was almost to the door when Collin came running out of his room. Cristina scooped him up and tried to make her escape.

Owen caught the door. "What are you doing?"

She played innocence. "Leaving, like you wanted."

"Why are you taking Collin? I can handle him."

"He likes coming out with me, don't you, buddy?"

Collin stared at her, making rare eye contact, but still saying nothing. He must have sensed his important role in this delay, because he smiled. It was a beautiful expression.

Owen grimaced. "Most of those people are _sentenced_ to meetings, Cristina."

"Worst case scenario, I use him as a weapon."

"I really think you should leave him here."

Cristina could be a little possessive when it came to Collin, but instead of citing her alpha-parent rights, she was honest with Owen. She wrapped both arms around Collin. "He makes it easier."

Owen wavered, frowning. "Cristina…"

"We can talk about it later."

Owen debated, and then sighed. "Fine." He opened the door for her. "Be safe. I love you."

XxX

Cristina stayed quiet on the way to the meeting. She suddenly had a lot on her mind. What she said to Owen made her realize she was using Collin as a safety blanket, the same way he used her. Dean was quiet, too, content that she was on her way to the meeting. He swayed to smooth jazz music, occasionally glancing at the rearview mirror, which was trained on her mute son. He obeyed the laws of the road like his grandmother was riding shotgun.

It was a standard meeting. Storytelling, tears, and coffee. It smelled in the meeting hall because they had a new member – a grungy young man who never took off his sweatshirt. Cristina stayed in the back with Collin in her lap.

When it was over, Cristina went to the little office of her own accord, knowing Dean would refuse to leave without one of his little therapy sessions. He could make a pretty penny if he started charging for them. He sat on the corner of his desk, and she took the chair, and the sound of the doors opening and closing kept on until they were the only ones left.

Dean leaned over his knees, giving her that junior-football-coach look. She was convinced he practiced that expression in the mirror.

"How many times did you quit this week?"

She answered honestly, "Six."

Dean smiled. "Why?"

"I think I can handle it now, on my own."

"Quitting is a slippery slope." He was not disappointed, but amused. Both of them knew she was only half-serious about quitting. It was a pointless conversation, but one they had often. "So what made you want to quit this time?"

"I hate it here."

"Not based on what I've seen."

Cristina was baffled by that. "What universe are you living in?"

"When the others get up there and talk, you listen. You pretend not to, but you do. You nod. Smile. Scowl. Little expressions give you away. If I could pull up a snapshot of your face when you walk into the building, and put it next to you when you walk out, the difference would astound you."

Meetings made her feel accomplished, as they were real, tangible steps in her recovery. She could measure it, count it up. It was completely objective and quantitative. He was right about the way she came in, versus the way she left.

Dean reached behind him, sipping from a (probably cold) mug of coffee. "So, I know the meetings aren't the problem, so what made you want to quit this time?"

"It's complicated."

"Give me the short version."

 _I slept with Adham Farrah in Egypt and had his son, and the fact that he looks more like me is probably the only reason my husband hasn't put the pieces together yet._

"I'd really rather not."

"Well, whatever it is, you need to talk to someone about it. Someone close to you. A friend. Family. Maybe your husband."

Cristina snorted.

Dean gave a very slight smile, showing his concern. "Your problems came from this behavior. When we first met, that was a point you made very clear. Keeping secrets put you in this mess. So do something about that. You are not the victim anymore, Cristina."

"I know that."

Dean stood up, patting her shoulder. "Okay. Ready for me to take you home?"

Cristina got up, too, and slung Collin over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He laughed musically. "What time is it?"

"Eight-ten."

"I guess I _should_ go home." Cristina twisted him around and held him up by his leg, quickly having to set him in the chair. "God, kid, you're getting heavy."

Dean sat for a moment when they got in the car, sticking the key in, but leaving it unturned. "You handled your crisis very well today."

"I think you misused the word 'crisis.'"

"No."

"That wasn't a crisis."

"I can always tell when you're having a crisis. Every time."

Cristina snorted, curious about his strange definition, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Her anxiety about Adham was nowhere near a crisis. She knew what a crisis really felt like, and she was never going back there.


	13. Confide

**Chapter 13.**

 **Confide.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 23, 2019.**

Cristina kept finding little moments of motivation.

She would pull Meredith aside, try to open her mouth to confess her phenomenally well-kept secret, and then spew something irrelevant and skitter away. Between surgeries, before lunch, after getting in a shouting match with Pierce about her idiotic scheduling protocols, Cristina was afforded these little pockets of opportunity, and she kept screwing it up.

It seemed so simple. Meredith was her _person_. She told her everything. When there was something huge happening in her life, Meredith was the person who had to know. It was the way the universe worked. Cristina wanted her to know about Adham and Henry, she really did, but the words escaped her. It seemed too big to just blurt out. But that was how she was used to giving news. Now that it called for some decorum, she was at a loss.

Meredith was perceptive. She was waiting when Cristina came out of a bypass. Meredith locked the scrub room door and leaned against it, crossing her arms in typical Meredith fashion.

"Okay, let it out."

Cristina could not help her guilty face for half a second. It just came out. She turned away, washing her hands to avoid making eye contact. "What do you mean?"

"Funny, coming from my _stalker_." Meredith came over, leaning against the sink. "You've been following me around all day. You have something to say. I can tell. So spill."

"I would prefer not to."

Meredith cocked an eyebrow, and waited.

"Fine. Geez." She glanced around, confirming they were alone, "I did something bad, Mer."

Meredith became concerned. She was somewhere between offering to help bury a body and searching Cristina for narcotics. Cristina saw that familiar fear flash in her eyes. She realized that would be a part of her life, for the rest of her life. When something went wrong, that was where her friends' minds would go.

It stung a little.

"I cheated on Owen, while I was in Egypt."

Meredith sighed, relieved. "I know that. We talked about it at the hospital, remember?"

"Yeah. I know that you know… _that_." Cristina dried her hands. "Can we move this conversation?"

"Of course."

Cristina ended up in an on-call room, sitting on a bed, her back against the wall, while Meredith sat cross-legged in front of her. It was like they were interns again, hiding from their responsibilities, gossiping about their coworkers – it was like thirteen years just vanished, and they were back at the beginning again. Cristina was not usually one for nostalgia, but it was welcome this time. It was a throwback to a simpler time.

It was easier to tell her secret, in this situation.

"I know who Henry's father is."

Meredith was quiet and thoughtful, thought Cristina knew she must be dying to ask. Both of them had very nosy natures. But this was something that carried more weight. Cristina had been caught up on it for a while now, and giving this secret away was a big deal for her.

"Adham is his father."

Meredith could not hide this reaction. Her eyes widened. She was doing math very rapidly in her head, and as the solution hit her she gasped. "Oh, my God."

"I know." Cristina rubbed her forehead. "That's not even the worst part."

"Oh, God, what happened? Did you sleep with him again?"

" _No_." Cristina actually laughed. She was glad that idea was ludicrous. "No. No way. But he wants to see Henry, to get to know him, and I sort of… told him he could."

Meredith nodded, "Please tell me you talked to Owen."

Cristina grimaced.

"Cristina, if he finds out from someone else… If you sneak around and…"

"I know. I know that. I'm not telling you this so you can give me the worst case scenario. I already know that, trust me. I just… I need you to know."

Meredith released a heavy breath, one that said she wished she was still in the dark. But she took on a determined expression, reminding Cristina why she had chosen her to confide in.

She went with that common phrase, that annoying phrase, that somehow managed to be less annoying in her voice. It was the trademark of their relationship, an exchange of this stupid, simple, but purposeful question.

"Are you okay?"

Cristina simply shook her head.

Meredith took her hands and scooted closer. "Okay. That's okay."

"Seeing him… it reminds me of when I was gone. He's already helping with Collin and I just don't know about taking Henry to see him."

"I can. Let me."

Cristina felt a knot unwinding inside. She felt guilty for conspiring, ashamed for her irrational fear, and worried about her son's future, but those words gave her a little peace.

"We can do a baby-trade, if you want." Meredith released her hands and got up, stretching. "Bailey for Henry. Nobody will question that. We can say Derek is doing something medical with Henry."

"No. I don't want Derek in this."

"But-"

"Derek and Owen are tight now."

Meredith considered that, and then nodded. "You're right. I do remember saying ' _why don't you just marry him_?' at least three times this week." She opened the door, and waited, "You coming? Sulking? Hibernating?"

"Hibernating. Beep me." Cristina wiggled her pager, and curled up on her side.

Meredith paused a moment longer, adding, "You can talk to me anytime. You know I'm always on your side, no matter what."

"Get out of here with that sappy crap."

Meredith laughed. "Sweet dreams."

When the door was shut, Cristina threw her pen at the light switch and the room went dark. She lay awake for a while, wondering what her kids were doing, and preparing herself mentally for the interview she had in the evening. It was all happening at the same speed it had thirteen years ago, but life suddenly seemed to be moving so quickly. It was supposed to be the other way around, flashing by when she was young, and grounding to a halt when she got older. Her addiction jumbled everything up. It messed with her all the time, without mercy.

But today she accomplished a goal, met a challenge. She was going to win this battle.


	14. The Interview

**Chapter 14.**

 **The Interview.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 23, 2019.**

It was humbling to walk through the marble arches of the Pearlman Cardiothoracic Research Center. She had a decently long, decently successful career, minus a few screw-ups along the way, and she had worked in some high-end places, the most prestigious being the Institute. But even that gorgeous place paled in comparison to the PCRC. It was the newest edition in a line of fine Pearlman products popping up all over the country. In just two years, four research centers had been opened up – the largest and most diverse in New York City, another in Los Angeles focusing on neuro, a pediatric specialty center in Jacksonville, and an oral, oto, and plastics center in Chicago. She was walking on the smooth stone floors of a neuron, feeling the intensity of a vast web of knowledge as it fired and connected doctors all over the country.

Cristina was standing in the future of medical innovation. She was in a place where the breakthroughs of the next generation would take place. From the moment those doors slid open, and she was met with a familiar, unexpected, smiling face, she realized how far she had come.

It took her breath away.

Preston Burke stepped up and took her hand, giving it a firm shake, smiling. "Glad you could make it. I was beginning to worry you had changed your mind."

She managed to utter, "Burke?"

Burke had gotten older – but then again, it had been years since she had seen him last. He stopped by the Institute a few times, here and there, and he popped up in medical journals, but looking at him now she realized he had _really_ aged. His hair was turning gray around the edges, and his eyes sported a few new wrinkles. He was still tall and serious-looking, but with more of a weathered aura. He must have had quite the taxing life.

He spoke like his presence there was utterly normal. "It was with my insistence that we broke ground in Seattle." And he smiled, and put his hand on her shoulder, leading her toward the elevator. "It's good to see you again, Cristina."

Cristina stepped onto the elevator, and stared at him, mystified that he could look like the same person, but also look completely different than the last time she saw him – the last time they met at the Institute. It was still strange being around him, not because they had been in a relationship that ended terribly, but because their lives had changed so much since they were together. He had kids now. He was married. He wrote in her favorite medical journals about innovative surgeries and doing charity work with Doctors Without Borders. Despite that, he still looked like _Burke_. He looked like _her_ Burke. It was the damndest thing.

Once she got over that hump, she buzzed with questions. "What are you doing here?"

He laughed. "Straight to the point, as always."

"Burke, seriously, what the hell?"

"I run this facility."

When the elevator stopped, he let her out first, and walked her down a pearl-white hallway to a spacious office. Cristina was briefly distracted by a few surgeons walking past their, their faces strangely familiar. She was like a child, overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of this lovely place.

Burke closed them into his office and motioned to one of the high-backed leather chairs. "Have a seat. When Dr. Oakland told me you had applied, I asked him to give you an interview."

Cristina sat down, glancing over the mass of papers on his desk. Surgical cases. A photo of his little family of four was perched on the edge, and Burke touched it reflexively as he took a seat.

She went from flabbergasted to perturbed. "Shane never said anything about you being here."

"I started yesterday, officially." Burke folded his hands over his stomach. "I was holding out, but my mother-in-law died last year and Edra and I decided it was time for a change. I was approached by Oliver Brightly three years ago about this very idea, and-"

Cristina sat straight up. "No, whoa. Whoa. Hold it. Stop right there. Rewind." She scooted her chair up, pointing at him, "Did you just say you met Oliver Brightly?"

Burke smiled. "I take it you're familiar with his work."

"You're talking about _the_ Oliver Brightly? You seriously met him? _The_ Oliver Brightly? The same Oliver Brightly who developed the one-stitch bypass? The same Oliver Brightly who laparoscopically reconstructed the heart of a baby still in the womb, and then _delivered_ said baby?"

Burke was nodding, "Yes. That's the one."

"He built a tiny baby heart, Burke!"

"I'm aware of that. I-"

"He's on my list!"

Burke cocked an eyebrow. "List…?"

"My list of three people I can still learn from."

Burke frowned, and then went on, "Anyway, he approached me three years ago with this idea to create the Pearlman Centers. He was still looking for a director and a location for this branch when we moved back to the States, and I suggested Seattle."

It was her turn to look confused. " _Why_?"

"I had no idea you were back. I promise. I knew you passed the Institute on, but I thought you were still living in Switzerland." Burke moved some of his papers from one pile to another, looking at them very seriously. "I grew up here, on and off. We moved around a lot, but Seattle was the place that really felt like home – something about the suburbs. I wanted it for my kids. Besides, Grey-Sloan is still the host of one of the best surgical programs in the country. It just seemed like the most logical place to choose."

"Or you could've picked Switzerland, where the Klausman Institute is."

"Oliver made the final decision."

Cristina shook her head at the way he said that name. Oliver Brightly was a legend, and he was one of those people she could never imagine getting on a first name basis with. But here she was in his research center, chatting with his new best friend.

"I want you to work here," Burke said, looking away from his files at last, and smiling at her again. "I know it might be strange, working under me again, but the work we do-"

"Yes."

Burke paused, and then said, "I didn't think it would be that easy of a sell."

"I applied here for a reason."

"You want to get away from surgery?"

"No, the opposite. I want to revolutionize it."

Cristina laid out her plans for him.

She told him the ideas she was going to present to Dr. Oakland to get herself hired, about the Lily Valve and the fatal cardiac defects she encountered in San Sebastian. She told him about the patients she had saved with off-the-wall procedures, about John Baxter and Leighton's Defect. He listened with the same thoughtful silence he had when they first met.

He wrote down a few things, adding some harsh underlines, and nodding to himself. When she was done talking, he gave her a proud look – it was the same way she looked at Shane.

"Cristina, you and I are going to do great things together."

Cristina stood up and shook his hand, feeling the weight of the future settling in. She had to put her skill where her mouth was, and push through with the incredible things bouncing around in her head. With the resources of the Pearlman behind her, it all became possible.

Burke cleared a spot on his desk and set a neat folder in it, handing her a pen. "I have everything prepared for you, if you're ready to sign."

She scooted her chair even closer, holding back a groan at the stack of paperwork in that folder. Medicine could be so complicated sometimes. But the excitement she bred when verbalizing her plans stayed with her, and made it easier to power through.

Burke watched her from his seat. "I assume you'll need time to give the hospital notice."

"I'm not quitting at the hospital."

"Oh. Moving to weekends, then?"

"No."

When she came in for the interview, that had been her intention. She told Owen that. She told Meredith that. She even told Shane that. But the longer she sat here the more she realized her career was at a standstill. She was at the top, but she needed to climb higher. It was what made her happy, but put that fire in her blood. She wanted to push herself as hard as she could handle, to prove that she was still that person. She was still strong enough.

"I'll cut my hours a little."

"Are you sure you want to take all that on?"

"Burke, come on. Are you really asking me that?"

He laughed, and crossed his arms. "I suppose I should've expected that."

"If I can do half the things I want to do, it'll be worth a few sleepless nights."

"Just a few?"

She shrugged.

While she signed, he spoke. "By the way, your protégé has been doing impressive work the last few weeks. He has three papers pending peer review."

Cristina laughed at his choice of words. "He got his work ethic from me."

"I would like to think I contributed, vicariously."

"You were a great teacher. Except for that time you almost lost your mind over a scrub cap."

"I seem to recall you having your own issues back then."

" _Issues_. If there was one word that could perfectly describe my life…"

Cristina worked her way steadily through the stack until she got to the last confidentiality agreement at the bottom. "I assume signing all of this means I get to drool on Oliver Brightly at least once. Was there a stipulation about that somewhere in this pile?"

"Oliver will be here next week to run the Neo-Nate Cardiothoracic Conference." Burke took her paperwork and flipped through it, and then stored it in one of his desk drawers. "I'm glad you're making this decision. I've watched your career over the years – from where you started as an intern to your 3D printing trials. I know you'll do great things here."

Cristina stood up, wondering if she should stay and pester him about his more exotic surgical endeavors, but also eager to get home to handle a scheduled playdate. Life was about to get more complicated, so she had to use all of her free time carefully.

"Let me talk to Webber about my hours, and I'll call you." She backed toward the door, "Is there any chance of me getting a pass for that conference?"

"I'll get one to you."

"You're a real champ, Burke."

She made her own way back to the elevator, buzzing with excitement and apprehension. She had made a big decision, to take on so much work in the near future, but in her mind it was worth it.

It had to be worth it.

Burke came out as she was getting on the elevator. He paused in the hallway, and inquired, "Who were the other two on that list of yours, anyway?"

Cristina answered simply, "Nora Wright and Preston Burke."

Burke smiled, and the elevator doors closed, cutting that expression off.


	15. Necessary

**Chapter 15.**

 **Necessary.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 25, 2019.**

Cristina had worked all day. She was tired. She ached down in the soles of her feet, in the little bones of her toes, in every joint, and every organ. It was supposed to be a quiet day – a bypass here, an exploratory surgery there – but in her line of work things could change so rapidly as to almost make one believe in fate. Maybe the universe hated the quiet.

Less than a block from the hospital, a drunk driver presumably making his way home after a long night and morning of partying, saw a police car and panicked. He hit the gas down a crowded sidewalk and took out a storefront. He died on the scene, and three of his victims made it into her care. She had been working side-by-side-by-side with every department stitching people back together, trying to minimalize blood loss and keep their tissues from dying. Somehow those people were still alive – in intensive care and on life support, granted, but alive – and even after three intense surgeries Cristina was still awake.

She should have gone home.

She should have run a bubble bath and locked her kids out, letting them run wild in the house until Owen got home. She should have been there to beg for a back massage and complain about her patients and the delay in starting the new interns.

But she was at the park instead.

Cristina was slumped on a hot metal bench, wearing jogging pants, scowling at the playground equipment through the glare of the setting sun. Noah and Evelyn squealed and chased each other around under the slide, oblivious to the fact that there were stairs they could climb. Collin sat in the plastic bubble up top, surveying the area and keeping a close watch on Cristina.

It was a beautiful day. The breeze was nice. She could have fallen asleep just sitting there. She could have curled up on this bench and left the world to handle its own problems.

But her company kept her alert.

Adham Farrah sat beside her, cradling an undersized one-year-old and gazing down at him. He had taken on this dumb expression when he got that little boy in his arms, and it showed no signs of leaving his face. A meteor could have crashing into that park, the heavens could have opened up and poured frogs down on them, and Adham would never have noticed.

When she left the hospital she really considered blowing him off and rescheduling, but seeing this made her glad she came. No amount of exhaustion could dim the warmth of this moment. He was meeting Henry for the first time, when he should have a long time ago.

She had made the decision to keep them apart, and now she was unmaking it.

"He is just so…" Adham began, running his finger down the baby's cheek. Fingertips. Just enough of a touch to make an impact, to deliver sensation, to make real this strange little creature who was suddenly going to be a big part of his life. He smiled at Cristina, appearing younger, like he had been injected with youth. "Thank you."

Cristina nodded, knowing she was undeserving of thanks, but unwilling to argue that point again. If she was going to start fixing the things she had done while she was gone, it had to start there – it had to start with Henry, and with Collin.

She kept her eyes away from them for the most part, allowing him this private moment to get acquainted with his son, and swallowing her doubts about what she was doing.

Her thoughts were skewed by her long day, and the dozens of things that had cycled through the top of her priority list during it, so she spoke rather randomly half an hour into their meeting. "Do you think Collin will start talking again?"

Adham looked up at her, and then zeroed in on the boy in the bubble. Whatever hang-ups she had about him because of Henry vanished whenever that look came to his face. It was the look of a scientist, the look of a doctor. He saw a problem, and his training and wisdom revved up to try and work out a solution, or, at the very least, a cause. It was the same look she gave herself in the mirror when she was working out a tough surgery. It was the same look Owen adopted when a trauma came in, in the split second between assessment and action.

He curled one eyebrow, perturbed, probably because an immediate solution evaded him, and said, "I want to start working with him as soon as possible. I have cleared my evenings, Tuesdays and Thursdays, as you requested."

Cristina had been mapping out her schedule lately, deciding when she would be at the Pearlman Center, and when she would work at the hospital, leaving herself little free time. But this was one of the essentials. She made time to be there with Collin. For the time being, the rest of her family could wait. Once everything was nailed down and her first trial began, she could afford to allocate a lot more time for them. She kept the plan to herself, though. Adham was not the person she wanted to share her life with. He only needed to know things pertinent to Collin.

"Psychotherapy?" Cristina questioned, curious. She wondered what went on in that little head, wondered what influence his early life had on his development.

But some of those questions seemed dangerous, because the blame could fall back on her. She already knew she was a subpar parent, but she was doing the best that she could at the time. Even now, she felt inadequate. Collin was mute, the twins were their own independent tribe that cared little for her presence or absence, and Henry was the most literal product of her failures.

Adham was looking at Henry when he answered, perhaps considering the same things, and choosing not to bring it up – _yet_. "

"Psychotherapy, speech therapy – what I do will depend on the cause of this regression. Our first priority is identifying the cause of the problem. What made him withdraw so much?" He readjusted Henry in his arms, and smiled reflexively, "I hesitate to say the birth of a baby brother would throw him so much. No. It seems… different, somehow."

Cristina was glad for his involvement. Her apprehension was gradually being replaced with peace. He had a great mind – she could see it in those pretty green eyes of his – and he was the type of doctor who fought for a solution to the bitter end.

"I also want Collin to become more familiar with me, to make testing him easier."

Adham sat up, and turned Henry out to gaze at his face, the way a new mother does after being handed her baby. It was a natural distance, about a foot, as far as a newborn could see. But Henry could not look at him. He was in and out of sleep, his eyes flickering, perhaps tracking light, but never settling. It was something that unsettled even Cristina at times, but Adham smiled at him.

He spoke with the reverence of a historian holding a precious, ancient document in his hands, "I always wonder what magical things are going on in their tiny little minds."

"Electrical impulses – feed me, hold me, keep me warm." Cristina snorted.

Adham laughed, settling the baby back into his arms. "By understanding the primitive mind, we can apply things to the advanced mind." He motioned toward Collin, the adorable blonde in the bubble, and said, "Perhaps our solution is not something new, but something that has always been there, only manifesting now as his mind tries to advance."

In a sense, Cristina understood what me meant, but at the same time she knew she would never _get_ it like he did. They were both doctors, but her practice was much more visceral. Either it pumps, or it doesn't. Either the blood is going in the right direction, or it isn't.

Neurology came with a lot of delicate considerations.

"I guess I'll see you next Tuesday." Cristina started shoving baby accessories into her bag, "Just remember, when you come to the house-"

"I know. I will not acknowledge Henry as my son when your husband is home. I still think this cloak and dagger approach is unnecessary."

"I'll decide what's necessary." Cristina paused, considering rewording that to sound less threatening, but it was exactly what she meant to say. She was in control of this situation, and she was going to keep it that way.

Without an apology, Adham still smiled, "I know. It's alright. We both had a tough day."

Cristina stood, slung her bag over her shoulder, and took the baby from Adham. Henry stretched, made a face, and then turned and wrapped his arms around her like a baby monkey. He was learning that from the way Collin held him. Both of them thought they could just hitch a ride whenever they wanted.

Her company stood as well, and set the car seat on the bench for her. "I can strap him in."

"Suit yourself. I have to go wrangle the Shriekling."

"The what?"

"Tiny little spawn of Satan." Cristina motioned toward the playground, where a red-headed, blue-eyed little girl was filling her diaper with sand. "I'll give you a hint, carbon copy of her father."

"Is that what you call your _daughter_?"

"Don't look so concerned. She earned it."

Cristina went to wrangle the spawn while Adham strapped the baby in. She ended up holding Evelyn upside down by her ankle to shake the sand out of her diaper, making her giggle.

Adham cocked an eyebrow at their carrying on when Cristina set her at the top of the slide, upside down, and let her roll off at the bottom. Evelyn hit the ground with a thud, rolling over, and threw her arms out, squealing happily and shouting, "Slide!"

Cristina plucked her up by her suspenders - she was wearing an adorable set of overalls in the blazing heat because she had covered the rest of her clothes in grape jelly that morning – and took Noah in her other arm. Her brother was calmer, quieter, but he looked on with a gorgeous smile while his sister dangled.

Adham followed them to the van, at first appearing concerned with all the noise Evelyn was making, and then finally laughing when he realized that she was not being tortured. Cristina set her in the grass so she could strap Noah in, and the toddler made laps around the vehicle.

"She has a lot of energy," Adham commented, passing Henry's car seat to Cristina.

"She may look like Owen, but she got all her psycho from me." Cristina popped Henry's car seat into place and then lunged backward, catching the redhead by surprise. She gave her one last cautionary shake upside down, dislodging a little more sand, and then deposited her in the floorboard under her baby brother. She army-crawled her way into the back and climbed into her seat – she was the crazy one, but she was also the most self-sufficient.

Adham watched, smiling, as she buckled herself in and started toying with the moveable stickers on the window beside her. "Clever setup you have there."

"Keeps her from destroying the car."

"You are a good mother, Cristina." Adham shut the door for her, and followed her around to the driver's side. "Thank you for letting me meet Henry. It means a lot to me."

Cristina took his words to heart – a heavy blow, of both relief and guilt – but shook it off. She hopped into the van, rolled the window down, and waved him off. "We're not having a moment. You'll see him later. Go home and get some sleep."

She watched Henry in the rearview mirror all the way home, wondering about his future. Eventually he would be old enough to tell Owen about their little adventures. Eventually Collin could spill the beans, or his younger siblings. Eventually the truth would come to light and that kid would be trapped in the middle of it. Would Adham try to claim Henry as his own? Would he try to break up their family, if only to get to see his son every other weekend? Would he battle for custody, and win, because of her checkered past?

No. Cristina hatched a plan. Regardless of his intentions, no matter how much trust she was putting into Adham regarding Collin, she was never going to let him take Henry away from her. She was going to set his future in concrete.

If nothing else, she was going to make sure she didn't fail a fourth time.


	16. Written

**Chapter 16.**

 **Written.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 25, 2019.**

She came home to the smell of brownies baking and the sound of laundry thumping around in the back room. Her living room was clean. She had to stop and glance at the number outside the door to make sure she had come to the right house.

"Hi, honey," Owen called from the kitchen.

Evelyn dashed straight inside, threw her arms up, did a little spin, and shouted, "Slide!" She pointed at her father and raised her voice to a squeal, "Slide!"

Owen turned on the sink and flicked water at her. She shrieked and ran for cover behind the couch, her brother following her and throwing in a chorus of his own sounds. Cristina dumped Henry over the back of the couch, making him laugh as he rolled through the cushions, and Collin entered the house with more caution, his little shoulders stiff, plotting his next move.

Cristina eyed the freshly swept floors suspiciously. "Did you kill someone?"

Staying his hands, which labored over a reddish sauce, Owen gave her one of those adorable head-tilting grins. He was wearing a novelty 'kiss the cook' apron, with a hole burned in the front from one of the kids tossing it over a candle. He was almost cute enough to be above suspicion.

"I wanted to do something nice. I heard you had a bad day."

Cristina hooked Henry in one arm and then flipped herself over the back of the couch, leaking onto the cushions like mold. Henry crawled on top of her, unseeing eyes alive with glee. "You were _there_. You know I had a bad day."

Owen leaned his elbows over the back of the couch, his eyes on the baby, "I meant the earlier case, with the twins. I heard it was rough."

"Oh, yeah."

"You found a tumor, didn't you?"

Cristina sighed. "Yep." One of her routine procedures revealed a tumor clogging up the chest of an elderly patient, who had lived nearly her entire life alongside her twin. With her new diagnosis, they would get less than six months more, and then… lives, shattered. She was numb to it, after the long day that followed, and the long career that preceded it.

Owen dangled the spatula over her mouth. "Taste that."

"You're making spaghetti?" Cristina eyed it, and shrunk away. "I'm not hungry."

Evelyn burst out from behind the couch suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at Cristina and declaring, "Not hungry!"

Cristina threw a pillow at her, and she retreated.

Owen licked the spatula, "You gotta eat."

"I'll eat those brownies, I promise."

He smiled, leaning on his elbows over the couch and watching Henry. "How was the park?"

Evelyn popped out again and parroted, "The park!"

Cristina lunged up, dropping Henry on a cushion, and grabbed the girl before she could escape. She stood, pulled a big cushion off the couch, and put the squirming toddler under it, replacing it and sitting against it like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Owen simply moved his elbows, and then returned to his spot.

"Hot," Cristina told him, resisting a smile as the cushion shifted behind her. "Boring. But the kids blew off some steam, especially She-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named."

Evelyn escaped, popping her head and torso up behind Cristina and laughing. She was a mess, curly crimson hair bouncing in every direction, red spots on those plump cheeks from the sun, eyes as clear and blue as the afternoon sky, and a smile that made her look remarkably like Owen.

He picked her up, tickling her until she gasped, and then tossing her into the recliner. She lay there, upside down, panting, looking at them with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Owen plucked Henry off of his cushion with one hand and let him lick the end of the spatula, saying, "Look, see, he likes it."

Cristina watched the two of them, affection swelling inside. She had just come from the park, from a meeting where she let Adham, Henry's biological father, hold him for the first time, and the look of Henry with the two of them was much different. Adham admired him, held him like a treasure, but Owen held him like a father, and looked at him like he did all of their kids. Saying what she wanted to say became much easier.

"Can you come here," Cristina said, patting the couch beside her.

Owen cocked an eyebrow, "Come into the kitchen, the sauce is burning."

Cristina hauled herself off of the couch, whacked Evelyn with a pillow on her way past, and then scooped up Noah as he followed his father into the kitchen. He put his arms around her neck, resting against her hip, almost as light as Henry. He was a small toddler, a lot more delicate than his sister, with a quiet countenance that reminded her of Collin.

"What's up?" Owen stirred the sauce, holding Henry carefully away from the pot, and when it was clear the red liquid wasn't going to burn, he focused on the baby again. He put one big hand over his curly black hair, flattening it, and Henry grabbed his wrist with both hands.

Cristina slouched at the kitchen table, and sunk into a chair, setting Noah in her lap. He sucked his thumb and regarded them with muted curiosity.

"I want to talk about Henry."

Owen paused, a dark thought passing through him, and then he came to sit across from her. He set Henry on the table, where he sat up and played with the napkin holder.

"First, there was something I needed to tell you." Owen glanced through the doorway, at the four-year-old hovering near the couch. "It's about Collin."

At the sound of his name, Collin took big steps into the room, surveying the pot, the oven, and the cabinets, and then stopping to look out the window, through the knitted curtains Owen's mother had given them when they moved in. Cristina doubted he could see much, but the world outside interested him, and he would never stop trying.

Owen watched him, readjusted his collar, and looked away from Cristina, almost guiltily. Her skin grew hot a she considered a list of things he might have kept from her.

"I got a call from Derek the other day, about something Bailey told them."

Her steam faded. That was not what she expected to hear. "What?"

"He said Collin told him that Mrs. Gardner… she said some inappropriate things to Collin about us, that we were getting a divorce, and that he had to go to a special school."

Cristina looked reflexively at her son, who ignored them both. To say that she was protective of Collin was an understatement. She had met him in Switzerland four years ago, held him the moment he was born, and adopted him despite her reservations about being a parent. That little blonde, the spitting image of his mother, meant more to her than any person rightly should. He was a quiet force in her house, the one who came and took her hand when things were hard, the wet face that made her want to be strong again.

What Owen said had no effect at first, because she pondered how true it could be, but when it sunk in the anger flared up. "When was this?"

"Last week, I think."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I… I didn't want it to upset you."

Cristina had wondered why Mrs. Gardner was suddenly absent from the daycare, but now the thought pleased her. If she had still been there, she would have gotten them both fired. Behind that protective anger, there was outrage. "You had no right to keep that from me."

Owen didn't deny that. He sat with his hands crossed, nodding.

"You had no right," she repeated, standing, almost forgetting what she had wanted to talk to him about as hostility flooded her mind. She paced the kitchen, setting Noah down so she wasn't tempted to use him as a sledgehammer to whack some sense into his father.

Finally, she went to Collin and crouched in front of him, taking his little hands. He peered curiously at her, not drawing away, waiting for her to say something.

"Sweetheart," Cristina said at last, sliding down to her knees.

"I already talked to him about it," Owen said from the table.

Cristina ignored him. "Collin, whatever Mrs. Gardner said to you about Daddy and me, she was wrong. She was wrong about you, too. You don't have to go anywhere. Sometimes people… sometimes people don't understand you. They don't get it. But you shouldn't worry about them."

He stared at her for several seconds, unblinking, and then he pulled his hands out of hers and threw his arms around her neck.

He whispered to her, so softly she barely understood him, "I want to go to school with Bailey."

It was an inconsequential thing to say, a soft request, but it came in a voice she had not heard for some time, and in that moment it wouldn't have mattered what he said. It only mattered that he was speaking. Cristina held onto him tightly, looking up at Owen in open astonishment.

"You can go to school with Bailey, when you're old enough," Cristina promised him, standing and picking up him. "I missed hearing you talk…"

He held onto her for a while, so when it was time to resume her conversation with Owen, and it was evident that Collin would say no more, she sat at the table with him in her lap. She ran her hand up and down Collin's back, invigorated by the words he had spoken, and was suddenly unafraid of the topic she was bringing up.

"Owen… I want you to sign Henry's birth certificate."

He looked confused by the request. "Oh. Why? I mean, why now?"

"I want closure. I want..." Cristina plucked a napkin from Henry's mouth and tossed it in the trash, watching his face while she spoke, "He's yours. You're his dad, no matter what. And I want to amend his birth certificate. I want your name beside mine."

Owen smiled, placing one of his hands over hers. "Of course."

"One other thing, actually."

"Hmm?"

"Noah and Scooby need a bath."

Owen winced. "I had yesterday."

"I had a rough day, remember?"

"You have to finish cooking."

"Gladly." Cristina hopped up, pried Collin off of her chest, and set him on the floor beside the stove. She motioned to Henry as Owen left the room with Noah. "Hey, you forgot one!"

"Wash him in the sink!"

Cristina grumbled, "Wash him in the sink," and plucked Henry from the table. She kissed his forehead, making him wrinkle his nose and laugh. "You're too good for the sink. What was Daddy thinking? Daddy is crazy. Yes he is. Oh, yes he is."

She set him in the counter and filled the sink with warm water, watching as Collin dragged his stepping stool over and climbed up so he could stand face-to-face with his little brother, and keep him from falling. Cristina made it his personal responsibility. Henry put his hands on Collin's face, studying him with unseeing eyes, those beautiful brown orbs floating around as he tried to discern who was standing so close to him. Collin tolerated the contact, whereas Evelyn would have smacked him by now, and stared at him silently.

"Thanks, buddy," Cristina said to Collin, earning an inquisitive look. "For talking to me today. I really needed it. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, kid."


	17. Juliet

**Chapter 17**

 **Juliet**.

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 26, 2019.**

Cristina was halfway through a bagel, debating stitch preference with Maggie – otherwise known as the current bane of her existence – when her pager went off. It announced an incoming trauma, giving minute details that could prepare her for the report at the emergency desk. Pediatric was a word that caught her attention, but the real shock came from 'explosion.'

She made it to the emergency desk at the same time as Alex, and in harmony they slammed their hands down on its marble surface and asked for the report.

"Female, eleven years old, involved in an explosion. Burns on the face, torso, and upper limbs. Incident occurred twenty minutes ago, unconscious since then. Unidentified debris lodged in the chest cavity. Significant smoke inhalation."

Cristina was filled with dread. It was only snippets, the things the paramedics had observed and treated and reported to the hospital they were barreling toward, but it painted a nasty picture. She barked at the closest OR nurse, "Prep OR 2!" She heard Alex ordering someone to call plastics, so she headed for the emergency bay. Doctors were amassing there as the sound of sirens grew louder. Her heart raced. Alex was tying her gown when the ambulance appeared around the corner.

"Here we go," Alex murmured.

She was the first at the doors when they flew open, and she beheld her new patient. She was a small eleven, Hispanic, her feet bare and pajama pants hiked up to her knees. She had a drape over her chest, but it stuck up at odd angles, and in some places was soaked with blood. Her face looked charred, but tranquil as she was rolled out of the ambulance. One of the paramedics came with her, delivering oxygen through a mask and repeating what the desk had told them.

Once they were in the hospital, and well on their way to the OR, Cristina lifted the drape. Her shirt was melted onto her skin in some places, and it had holes burned in it in others, and in the holes pieces of plastic were sticking through her skin. One of the largest pieces sat near the center of her chest, a breadth away from her heart, sticking out like a misplaced horn. She had burns up her neck and along her collarbone, and the worst were on her hands, which showed flesh and muscle. The smell was horrible. Burning skin. Burning blood.

Cristina worked in a flurry, gathering little snippets of information made available by the arriving parents and the transferred medical records.

Her name was Juliet Cortez. She was eleven. She went to her bedroom at nine, and at nine-thirty her parents heard a loud pop and heard her screaming. Her curling iron had exploded in her hands, rendering her unconscious and setting her bed on fire. Her heart stopped beating and she died for two minutes, but her father saved her with modified CPR, lodging the plastic in deeper, but restarting her heart. Her chest bruised and partially caved-in from his passionate effort.

With patience and concentration, drawing on all of her experience with anatomy and the hearts of young children, Cristina helped to mend her, or at least make it so the blood went where it was supposed to go. While she worked, Alex started and stopped as the patient tolerated, pulling out smaller plastic shards and repairing some of the damage to her hands and face. He laid skin grafts over her burns and decanted charred skin. Over and over, they switched places, as if they were dancing, and what little communication that occurred between them came in the form of grunts and short orders. Cristina put her on a respirator to assess her lungs.

What she found was not good.

She looked up at Alex, at the deep ridges in his forehead as he leaned in to pull the skin of her knuckle back together, and shook her head. Just shook her head.

He looked up and frowned. "What?"

"Her lungs…"

Alex looked down where she was operating, and then back at her. "How bad is it?"

"Permanent." Cristina ran her gloved finger over the ruined lung tissue, which was not accepting oxygen from the respirator. She had one lung in operation, because this one was irreparably damaged. It had been sliced open by some of the debris, and the tissue was already necrotic from the lack of oxygen. A back flush of air whistled through what was left of the bronchi with each inhalation, and then stuttered as she exhaled, showing how the other lung struggled.

Alex only paused for a moment. He kept working on his stitches. "Fix the other one, then."

She doubted it would fixable, but she moved on anyway. She finished collapsing the lung, removed the necrotic tissue, and did what she could to repair the lacerations, but before she assessed the other lung, she closed off the muscular bronchi with a clamp so the oxygen would stop escaping.

On the other side, the damage was deep, but not quite as bad. Cristina spent hours sewing intricate lines into the lungs, giving them space to expand and assessing how they perfused. She transferred the girl to another machine, a sort of iron lung that perfused oxygen into her blood and cut the damaged lung out of the cycle. It was loud and hot, but worth it to give her time to work with the remaining lung. It was important she kept it until they could get her a transplant.

When her stitches were in place, and when they held against experimental inflation, Cristina went to work with an ultrasound hunting down all the fragments of plastic that had made their way into the bigger spaces of her chest cavity. Jackson arrived from another surgery and helped Alex run a stitch up the side of her face, to repair a laceration that went straight through her cheek and exposed the teeth and gums behind it.

"Tough kid," Jackson commented, beholding the machine, and her broken chest.

Cristina only closed when she was satisfied her patient would survive the night, and even then she lingered. In the scrub room she watched them disconnect the anesthesia, and felt a sense of duty toward the pint-sized person on that table. Where was that coming from?

"Rough break." Alex joined her at the sink, scrubbing his arms in long, sweeping motions, and then putting more detail into his hands. His face was impassive, as always, his voice gruff from his long shift. "She probably has nerve damage in her hands."

"Probably?"

"Every time I tried to open, her vitals dropped." Alex grabbed a towel, pacing around the room. "She needs a break before we look into that."

Cristina looked at her own hands, wondering if she could survive without them.

"What's bugging you?"

She looked up, and found Alex hovering in front of her bench. He had one eyebrow cocked.

Cristina shrugged, and repeated his words. "Rough break."

"I'm gonna go talk to her parents. You should get some rest. You look exhausted."

Cristina hopped up, "No, I'll talk to them. _You_ should get some rest."

She found the Cortez family in a special waiting room dedicated to the OR. When they saw her, a stout, black-haired man jumped to his feet, tugging his wife with him. Both had red eyes and tissues in their hands, their dress a mixture of pajamas and tennis shoes, their hair half-brushed. It was a common sight in emergency medicine.

Over the years she had grown more tolerant of patients' families, whether through her trials or through her growing experience, so she spoke to them kindly.

"Your daughter is in a medically induced coma. We put her on a ventilator to help her breathe."

Cristina tried to explain everything in laymen's terms, letting the family ask questions, trying to be honest with them and instill hope as well. She was reasonably sure Juliet was going to make it, but beyond that, her future was a mystery. Her skin would mend, the scars would fade, but she needed two new lungs. Organ transplant was a risky business.

She brought them paperwork and helped them get Juliet listed for transplant, discussed treatment plans, introduced them to Alex, and promised she would let them see Juliet the moment she was able to have visitors. When she left the family, she went back to the breakroom and retrieved her cold bagel from the fridge, toying with it on the table.

Alex joined her, sighing, but saying nothing.

Cristina wondered aloud, "I _feel_ … this case."

He snagged part of her bagel and nibbled on the edge, grimacing. Alex was a big guy, kind of blocky, way smarter than he looked, and he tried his best to be detached. Years of working in peds had made it hard for him. He just squared his shoulders, sighed again, and patted her shoulder as he got up to leave, saying, "Try not to."


	18. MIA

**Chapter 18.**

 **M.I.A.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 27, 2019.**

Owen put his muscle behind the washcloth, desperate to scrub out the last of the spaghetti stains so he could drain the sink and give Henry his bath. It was late and he was behind, having spent the whole day dealing with an eclectic four-year-old, twin toddlers, and an asthmatic baby with a developing cough. Since he woke up that morning, since Cristina kissed him goodbye and headed off to work, he had been in a warzone, worse than any out in the desert.

When the dish was sort of clean, he poked his head out of the kitchen and watched as the alpha of his little pack, Evelyn, marched around the living room with a pot on her head and banged two spatulas against her bare chest. He would probably never find the pajamas she had been wearing. Her smaller twin brother followed her, marching on unsteady feet. Henry was wiggling around in the chair, the beige of his skin blending in with the fabric, beating against the safety web Owen had stretched across the front and trying to escape. His oldest was missing.

Owen had a sinking feeling.

He checked the bathroom first, where Collin liked to dangle from the shower curtains, and then his bedroom. He found the pint-sized blonde digging through his mother's emergency medical bag, which she kept hidden in the closet. He had dragged it out into the middle of the floor and he had an extra sharp pair of bandage scissors in his hands.

Owen lunged across the room, shouted, "No!" and wrenched the scissors from his grasp. For all the hell Collin had given him today, his reaction was warranted.

Collin gasped and got to his feet, holding out both hands and squealing at Owen.

"You can't play with these," Owen said, dropping the scissors in the bag and then storing it in the top of the closet this time. He went to pick Collin up to take him out of the room, but Collin jerked away from the touch, and he was left standing there looking at the stubborn kid. "It's dangerous, buddy. You can't play with mommy and daddy's stuff, okay?"

Collin looked at Owen's chest, not his face, and took on a defiant expression. He squealed again, holding his hand out as if he expected Owen to hand him the scissors back. It was hard to be intimidating in puppy-themed pajamas.

Owen ushered him toward the door, giving him gentle nudges on his shoulders, which Collin flinched away from. "Go out and play."

He got him over the doorframe and slammed the door, and Collin kicked it, squealing, and glared at the doorknob. He set his little jaw, ran a brisk hand against his wild, white-blonde hair to get it out of his face, and then stomped across the living room. He climbed onto the couch, where he always waited for Cristina to get home, and sat pouting.

Owen sighed.

Henry had been born with multiple systems failure and asthma, he had been through over a dozen surgeries and he was legally blind. Noah and Evelyn had been born on a highway in the pouring rain and had somehow survived Cristina trying to function normally while pregnant.

But there was something different about Collin.

He was born to a mother who did not want him, into a family that had already been broken by tragedy, and by the time he made it into Cristina's arms, he was already permanently affected. It was easier to deal with when he was smaller, when Cristina was away and the two of them were forced to work together, but Collin was getting older, growing stronger, becoming more defiant. He was clever and mischievous, with an iron will. It was more than childhood stubbornness, though. Owen knew with every fiber of his being that Collin hated him.

He had spent a good portion of his life with Owen, yet Collin would not let Owen pick him up, and he would not speak to him. He threw raging tantrums and refused to eat. It was never like that when his mother was home, or when Shane was watching him. Something had made the little boy vehemently opposed to Owen, so being alone with him was hard, and it got harder every day.

It seemed the older he got, the worse he got. While his siblings grew up, he seemed to stagnate, and sometimes regress. Owen thought he was autistic, but Cristina refused to accept that. Adham Farrah has been over earlier to assess him, with little luck, and Owen was at a loss.

What was he supposed to do?

Owen left the little boy to his own devices, readying his other kids for bed. Evelyn was easy compared to him, even though she managed to turn the tub back on while he was looking away and flood the bathroom. Noah was the easiest and honestly he was Owen's favorite at the moment. He was small and sweet, and he was the spitting image of his mother, right down to that precious grin. Henry went down without a fight, too, but Owen spent longer with him because he was the smallest. He gave him his breathing treatment, and then held him in the rocking chair, humming until he drifted into sleep.

His frustration was gone by the time he came back around to Collin, and he was ready to start the battle again. Collin was sitting in the corner playing with the dollhouse. He held two dolls, one in each hand, and gazed at the house thoughtfully.

Owen leaned against the wall nearby, and said, "Bath time, bud."

Collin gave no indication that he heard him.

It would have been easier to convince him to just get into bed than to give him a bath, but he had been playing outside all day and his fair skin was dusted with dirt. He smelled distinctly of the outdoors. It was a worthy battle to choose.

But before he could grapple with the boy, the phone rang. He picked it up, grateful for the delay, and smiled when he heard his mother on the other end.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are the kids asleep? I didn't even think about it!"

"Most of them are." Owen sat on the arm of the couch, watching Collin as he spoke. His mother came by twice a week to play with the kids, and she had them on the weekend sometimes, though she only took one or two at a time. "I was just about to give Collin a bath."

"I was just calling to see if you still wanted me to watch them tomorrow night."

"Oh, yeah, I do. Derek and I are going to look into some stuff for Collin." Owen stretched out one arm, groaning, and added, "Are you sure you can handle all of them? We could ask-"

"I went to war, son, I can handle my grandkids."

Owen laughed. "Right. Sorry."

"Can I talk to Collin?"

One of the first times he and Collin had ever bonded had been at his mother's house, when memories his father were haunting him. Owen had imagined then that Collin would always be his little buddy, and never expected the way things worked out. Thinking of it gave him pause, made him wishful and sad inside.

He took the phone to Collin, holding it out, "It's grandma."

Collin tried to snatch the phone from his hand and Owen withdrew it.

"Take it nicely," he chastised.

Collin reached out again, taking the phone gently from him, and then pressed it to his ear. He never spoke on the phone, but he was listening. A buzz came through over the line, but Owen couldn't make out the words. Collin barely emoted on a normal day, only giving thoughtful looks most of the time, but whatever his grandmother said made him smile. He set the phone gently on the ground, and Owen picked it up again.

"Mom?"

"How was he today?"

Owen answered honestly, "A handful."

"Well, I was just in the neighborhood and I thought maybe I could come over and we could do his bath and maybe I could read him a bedtime story. Is that ok?"

Owen tensed, and wondered if his mother could hear how exhausted he was. He was trying to hide it. He smiled at her wording, though, because they lived out in the country and not in a neighborhood. She was probably at home, loading her grandma tools into her purse. She had a way with Collin that he had never understood, not quite as close as Shane, but closer than Owen could ever hope to be.

He answered a little too eagerly, "That would be fine, Mom. Great, actually."

It took her ten minutes to get to the house, and she went straight to Collin and sat down beside him, picking up another doll and showing it to him. Collin communicated nonverbally, holding out his toys, twisting them, and trying to impress what he wanted her to know.

Owen watched them for a while, trying not to be bitter about the exchange, and then went to check on the others. Noah was sound asleep and Evelyn was busy arranging the stuffed animals in her crib. When she saw him she grinned and held up her arms, and Owen plucked her up. He sat in the rocking chair, holding her close to his chest.

Evelyn was not quite as small as Noah, with scarlet hair and the most personality out of the bunch – maybe the most personality out of any toddler he had ever met. When people were introduced to his kids, it was Evelyn that stuck in their minds. People asked how she was. People wanted to know what she had been up to. She had a mischievous charm that reminded him of her mother. She looked just like Owen, down to her startling blue eyes, but she was her mother's child through and through. Despite all the trouble she gave him, he wished that Collin was more like her.

She curled up against his chest and rested her face on his forearm, making a little humming sound every time the rocking chair pitched forward. Her eyes lulled closed. Owen watched her the way he had every day since she was born, proud that she was his, and honored to be hers. He wished it could be that way with Collin, that they could sit together in quiet reverence and be father and son, that he looked at Owen the way that Evelyn did, or that Noah did.

He was imagining that kind of life when his mother came into the room. It had almost been an hour since she arrived, and since then she had managed to get Collin his bath and run through the house with him. Owen deposited his sleeping toddler into her crib.

He walked his mother to her car, his mind meandering.

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, smiling, "I'm so proud of you, Owen."

Owen smiled reflexively.

She drew away and cupped his face with both hands, her smile turning sad. "Just give him time, sweetheart. Collin is a special boy."

"Mom…" Owen hesitated, wondering if he should confess, but it slipped out anyway. "What if he never… what if he never bonds with me? Are we gonna live like this for the rest of our lives?"

She hugged him again, a little tighter this time, perhaps a little desperate. She wanted her words to be true. "He will. He loves you."

Owen watched her drive off, also wanting those words to be true. If only time would help Collin. He might be able to deal with this better, instead of living with this turmoil. He hung out on the porch after she left, almost wishing she had taken Collin home with her for the night, to give him some semblance of peace. He found the boy in the living room, sitting in his spot on the couch and waiting for his mother to come home. She was working a double, so his waiting was futile. He had big tired circles under his pretty blue eyes.

It was easier to start with the house. Owen cleaned up the toys, put the dishes away, and yawned his way through fixing the couch cushions. When he at last came to Collin, the boy was barely awake, holding onto his knees and sitting upright.

"Let's go to bed," Owen said.

Collin didn't look at him, but he yawned at his words.

Owen sighed, trying to put a cap on his frustration. "Collin, come on. I'm tired. You're tired. Just go to bed, and Mommy will be home when you wake up."

He sat still and silent, ignoring Owen.

He was exhausted, so Owen snapped at him. "Go to bed!"

Collin still said nothing, but flinched at the sudden change in volume.

"You're killing me, kid." Owen reached out for his arm, but Collin jerked away. Owen grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him off of the couch, dangling him for a moment while Collin tried to free himself. He was like a strung coyote trying to escape a trap. He squealed. Owen got two hands on him and held on tight.

Collin squirmed around, kicking at him and screaming, filling the house with his shrill voice, and then he suddenly hugged Owen's arm. He bit him. He bit him so hard he drew blood.

Owen dropped him.

Collin scrambled up and ran into his room, slamming the door shut. Owen stared in disbelief at the kid-sized bite mark in his lower arm, dripping blood through the hair and around to his wrist. Collin had never bitten him before. That was usually Scooby, and not hard enough to break skin. Owen reacted viscerally, storming up to the door, but it didn't budge when he tried to open it. He wiggled the knob. Collin had locked him out.

"Open this door!" Owen growled, banging his fist against it.

He heard nothing inside.

He was growing angrier, like a snowball rolling downhill. He hit the door so hard the frame shuddered against his hands. "Collin! Open the door!"

From the other room, Henry started crying, and he heard Noah say, "What's that?" His sister mimicked his words, until both of them were repeating it over and over, and Henry was crying over them.

But that crying turned to a coughing fit.

Owen locked his jaw, almost willing to wait it out, but the sound drew him away. He stepped into Henry's room and unbuttoned the front of his little footsie pajamas, massaging his chest while he coughed. His hazy brown eyes had tears in them from his recent crying. Owen murmured an exhausted apology. Henry whimpered as the coughing eased off.

He stopped at the twins' room next, beholding twin two-year-old's standing up in their cribs, staring at him. He pulled the door shut and whispered, "Go back to sleep."

At last, he came back to the door in question, wincing at the crack running down the doorframe. He had to get a better hold on his anger. Cristina was going to throttle him when she got home. It would have been easier at this point to leave Collin alone, to let him do whatever he was doing in his room and go to bed, but Owen did not want to leave things like that.

He sat outside the door, keeping his voice low, "Collin, open the door."

Silence.

"Did grandma read you a bedtime story? She told me she tucked you in. Did you get back into bed?" Owen rested his head against the door, listening for any signs that Collin was listening inside. "Collin… please. Just talk to me."

He was in his room, probably going to sleep, but Owen felt compelled to get the door open. He dug through the drawers in the china cabinet until he found the spare keys to the interior doors, and took a deep breath before he opened this one. The kid's room was destroyed, toys everywhere, the TV playing, his drawings torn off of the wall.

And his window was open.

Owen felt the color drain out of his face.


	19. This is All For You

**Chapter 19.**

 **This is All For You.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 27, 2019.**

Owen stood in the doorway of a wrecked bedroom, his heart racing. His four-year-old son was supposed to be in here, pouting, or calling his mother over and over on the tablet he kept squirreling away in his toys. But it was empty, and his bedroom window was open, and a stack of books on the bed made a step just high enough for him to get himself outside.

His heart hammering, Owen rushed out the front door. He forgot everything, all of his anger and frustration of the day, and let himself panic.

But before he could start shouting, before he could call the police and then admit to Cristina that he had lost her precious son, he heard the telltale squeak of the swing set. He put his hand over his heart and crossed into the backyard, finding Collin sitting on the swing, his face bathed in the eerie glow of their security light, swinging and sliding his feet along the ground.

Owen had to steady himself before he approached, and when he did, he kept the anger out. It had done him no good so far.

He crouched by the swing and watched the boy, watched his sullen blue eyes following unseen patterns in the dirt, and wondered what could possibly be on his mind. He could have picked him up and wrestled him inside, nailed that window shut and switched the doorknob around so it locked from the outside instead, but Owen just waited, and Collin just kept swinging.

When he was sure he wasn't going to say anything out of anger, Owen murmured, "Sorry, buddy."

Collin went on swinging, not acknowledging him.

"Sorry I yelled at you, and sorry I picked you up like that. I know you hate it. But I got frustrated, because you never listen to me. I don't get it, buddy."

He sat in the swing beside him, sighing, and rested his head on the chain.

"I don't know why you won't talk to me. I don't understand it. I don't understand you, I guess. But I could if you would help me out, if you would just tell me what I'm doing wrong." He listened to the silence, and felt terribly alone. "Do you think I want to sit in a swing in the middle of the night and present my case to a four-year-old? No. But I do it. For you. I love you, buddy."

It was a hell of a thing, to feel like he was all alone when his kid was right there beside him. Owen sat there in silence, listening to the squeaking as Collin drove the swing endlessly back and forth, and wondered what he had done to earn this shunning. He ignored most people, shied away from touch, refused to talk to almost everyone, but Owen was supposed to be special. He was supposed to be as special as Cristina was, and certainly more special than Shane. But after months of getting nowhere with him, watching him shut down one encounter at a time, Owen was exhausted. He was tired of the whole thing.

He hated to feel this way, to feel resentment toward his own son, but it ate away at him.

His phone rang after half an hour. It was Derek.

"I'm on the way there."

Owen was thrown by those words. "What?"

"I'm on the way. You home?"

"Uh, yeah. Just outside… playing with Collin."

Derek sounded gruff, cold, and tired, like he and Meredith had been fighting. It was rare for them to go at each other, but when it happened it was explosive. He hung up on Owen after a grunt of acknowledgement, and not ten minutes later he pulled into the driveway.

He saw the two of them in the back and came over, sitting in the swing beside Owen and hanging there like a limp puppet, his lip riding up on the chain.

Owen asked, "Everything okay?"

"Meredith and I had a… disagreement."

Owen was quiet, assuming the former surgeon needed no prompting to explain.

Derek picked up the silence and went on, "She wants Lexie to go ahead and have the surgery, because the other kids stare, and because of that thing with that mom the other day. Cristina told you about that, right?"

Someone had had the balls to ask Meredith what was 'wrong' with her two-year-old daughter in the park the other day. Their twins, who were around the same age as Evelyn and Noah, had been born with some complications. Lexie's trachea was crushed by her umbilical cord and she had a nasty scar on her neck from the emergency correction they had made. Now that they were bigger and healthier, having the scar reduced was an option, and Meredith wanted to do it.

"You want to wait." Owen simply stated the fact, because he knew Derek's position already.

"Yeah, I mean, come on! She's two! It doesn't bother her, people staring. If we can keep her out of the operating room, we should. Simple as that."

Owen looked over at his son while he spoke, wishing he would look back at him. "Collin is supposed to get another surgery on his leg in November, but Cristina is thinking about putting it off for another year. She wants him to stay out of the OR, too."

Derek looked at the boy, frowning, "Rough day, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"Sorry." Derek relaxed his face on the chain again, groaning. He ran his hands over his hair, leaning over his knees for a moment, and then he dusted some crumbs from his jeans and let out another, heavier groan. "It just hits me sometimes, you know, when we talk about this. I was dead, for all intents and purposes, when Lexie was born, and Meredith had to deal with it on her own. She still wants to deal with it on her own."

"No, she doesn't." Owen was too tired to come up with anything wiser, so he said, "She's just pissed, and you're just pissed, and you should go home and apologize."

Derek smiled wryly at him. Over the years they had known each other – quite a few, now – they had found their way from mutual dislike to friendship, to brotherhood. Maybe it was because they were married to two very complicated and intertwined women, or maybe it was because they were very alike deep down. But at this point the reasons no longer mattered. Once you brought someone back from the dead, as Owen did for Derek, there was no getting rid of them.

He patted Derek on the shoulder, yawning.

"We should go camping again, you know."

Owen snorted so loudly that Collin looked up at him. He gazed into the boy's blue eyes for a brief, precious moment, and then Collin looked away again. Owen kept his eyes on him as he spoke. "No way. Remember what happened last time?"

"Vaguely."

"Let me remind you: You went off trail, we fell into a ravine, and we had to sit in the mud until the rescuers came to get us."

Derek laughed in a drunk, merry sort of way. "It's coming back to me."

"You think it's funny now, but I could have strangled you back then."

Derek had a smile on him that made him look younger. "It wouldn't be like that this time. I think we could both use the escape anyway. It might be good to take Collin and Bailey. It's a father-son sort of thing."

Owen sighed, hating how intrigued he was by that idea. Collin got along best with Bailey, and without his mother to obsess over for a few days, he might actually bond with Owen. It was what he wanted most in the world right now, and Derek was dangling it in front of him.

"I'll think about it."


	20. Nonsense Makes Sense

**Chapter 20.**

 **Nonsense Makes Sense.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 27, 2019.**

Cristina sat in the car for a long time.

She was tired, aching all the way down to her bones, from fielding phone calls all day from specialists and lawyers. Her newest patient, Juliet Cortez, was stable at last, but she had failed the test to come off the vent and she was still in a medically-induced coma. Her parents were still there with her, sitting by her bedside, taking their own share of shit. Cristina did her best to shield them from it, from the company that made the straightener trying to cover their own ass and weasel out of paying their bills to their nosey family who insisted on updates every ten minutes.

It was exhausting.

But in all of the chaos, she had realized why she was so attached to the kid. Something about her had reminded Cristina of Collin after the sinkhole, when his little life was on the line. It must have been her tranquil expression when she rolled out of the ambulance. Collin had always looked like he was sleeping. When she looked at Mr. and Mrs. Cortez, she saw herself. She saw herself with her hands on the incubator, watching and waiting for that moment when his eyes opened again.

She drew the parallels, but knowledge could not stop her from caring. So she sat in the car for a long time, her hands on the steering wheel, and watched the back porch of her house. She sat there and let work drift away, grasping for home.

Owen came out eventually, having seen her lights bob through the windows as she pulled up. He stood on the back porch, squinting at her in the darkness, and then glanced back inside. Cristina could see his company, Derek, peek out the window. Cristina waved at him, even though she was sitting in the dark, and there was no way he would see her.

Her husband came up to her door and tapped on her window.

Cristina cracked the door open, and Owen pulled it the rest of the way and stepped up to her, the security light giving his face a mystical glow.

She had nothing to say. Owen looked just as tired as she was, his brow tugging down, a new wrinkle in his forehead, a bit of tension in his arms, the way he held himself, and he also had nothing to say. He just looked at her, and she just looked at him, and they frowned at each other until Cristina worked up the energy to grab his forearm and pull him toward her. Owen wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her in a euphoric embrace.

He whispered, "Long day?"

Cristina nodded into his shoulder, appreciating his smell, his strength, the way his hands ran up and down her back. "You too?"

"Yeah."

She held on for a while, never usually one for hugs. Sometimes when Owen hugged her if felt like he was holding her pieces together, keeping her from breaking all over the ground, and for once it was mutual. His tension began to dissolve and he relaxed against her. He rested his head on her shoulder and let out a soft, relieved sigh.

"What's wrong?" Cristina wondered, pulling away to get another look at his face. She couldn't figure out what was going on in his head.

He pressed his lips into a hard, flat smile. "It was just… nothing. Come on. You need sleep."

Cristina wanted to press him, like she was sure he wanted to press her, but they let each other alone. She was tired. She followed him inside, waved at Derek again, and passed right into her bedroom. She scraped off her scrubs, crawled into bed, and pulled the covers up to her neck.

It was warm outside, warm inside, but she shivered.

Only a moment had passed when little feet pattered up to the side of her bed.

Cristina sensed a tiny human staring at her. She cracked one eye and found Evelyn holding a flashlight, pointing it at her own face and trying to be scary. Cristina had expected Collin, but his little sister was a pleasant surprise.

She reached out, scooped the girl up by the underarms, and bundled her into the covers. Evelyn was not overly fond of snuggling, but it was way past her bedtime, so she had no fight in her.

"Were you good for Daddy today?" Cristina asked her in a whisper.

Evelyn nuzzled into her breast, toying with a strand of her hair as she answered, "No."

"That's my girl."

Noah entered the room not long after his sister, and Cristina brought him into the fold, asking him the same question and getting an ambiguous, "I don't know" in response. Noah was fond of that phrase. She put one kid on either side of her and laid on her back, staring at the moonlit ceiling and waiting. She knew what would come next.

Collin appeared in the doorway, watching them for a solid minute before climbing up the foot of the bed, walking along the mattress, and lying down on her chest. He was heavier, but Cristina tolerated the weight because of how warm he was. She was inexplicably cold.

She was only missing one of her brood, who was probably better off sleeping in his crib than getting a mouthful of his siblings' feet. Cristina lay quiet and still, listening to them breathing, wondering what they were thinking about as they lay awake in the night.

"I got really attached to a patient today," Cristina said at last, breaking the silence. She wondered if they were asleep, or if they were listening, and how much they understood. "Her name is Juliet. She got hurt, and I had to leave her so I could come home for a while. Stupid hospital policy. She reminds me a lot of you, Collin, and of Henry… and she makes me sad."

Collin sat up a little, bearing his bony elbows into her stomach and looking at her.

Cristina wished she had a free hand so she could tame a free curl on the top of his head. She swallowed, tipping her head back to keep a tear in. "I'm sad, buddy."

Collin whispered, "Sad."

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. She nodded, wondering if she had imagined it. "Yeah. But that's ok, because that's how you know you're alive, right? You get sad sometimes. I was never sad… when I was gone."

He said nothing else, no matter how she prompted him, and eventually she was too tired to keep trying. She lay her head down and forced her eyes to close, begging her mind to calm down, wishing for nothing but absolute silence inside. Thoughts of Henry and Juliet and Adham Farrah haunted her. She had troubled, exhausted dreams.

XxX

 **July 28, 2019.**

Cristina woke with a buzzing head, like she had not slept. She silenced her alarm and extricated herself carefully from a mound of children, moving about her room to gather what she needed for her upcoming shift. Owen watched her from bed, his eyes adopting a feverish glint in the half-light. He would go into work in a few hours and drop the older kids off at daycare, with his mother coming over to take Henry for the day, maybe for the night, if things got crazy. Cristina knew he wanted to go back to sleep the moment she was gone, so he was staying as still as he could, but she crouched beside him anyway.

She put both hands on his arm and rested her forehead against his, whispering, "If three rolls around and I'm still at the hospital, I need you to physically remove me."

Owen smiled, and his face came to life. Some of his sleepy wrinkles faded and his eyes became warm again. "You can count on me."

Cristina hit the highway with a smile on her face, but it slowly dissolved as her body realized that she was awake, and that she should have kept on sleeping. She marveled at how a simply interaction with Owen, a few words exchanged, could give her such a boost.

Mr. and Mrs. Cortez were both awake, sitting in Juliet's dim room with blankets wrapped around their shoulders. It was chilly, to help Juliet breathe, and to help keep the fresh skin grafts free of infection. Cristina sat on the opposite side of the bed, holding a warm cup of coffee between her hands and watching Juliet's chest rise and fall with artificial breaths. She looked peaceful again, like Collin after the accident. Looking at her was hard.

" _Why_ would something like this happen to a little girl?" Mrs. Cortez wondered. She had been asking questions like that since she arrived at the hospital, and she always stressed the 'why.'

It was random, Cristina knew, that good people should suffer. Out of millions of appliances sold by that company, the one in Juliet's hands was the one to explode. It could have been a middle-aged mother in Ohio. She knew that Mrs. Cortez was searching for a different explanation, one supernatural, perhaps, but Cristina could not give it to her. Fate was nonsense, and nonsense could not make sense, no matter how badly she wanted it.

Mrs. Cortez went on, following one line of thought with a new one, "We talked to the billing people, and they said our bill… we already can't afford it. Every day it gets bigger. Will they… make her leave, Dr. Yang? Can they do that?"

"No. Absolutely not." Cristina sipped her coffee, regretting that she needed it to keep her eyes open. It seemed disrespectful. "You won't end up paying it, anyway."

Mrs. Cortez frowned, "Why? How?"

"We're going to hire a lawyer, to get the company to pay for her medical bills. If it comes down to it, I'll testify that these injuries were the direct result of their faulty product."

"We can't afford-"

"I'm going to pay for the lawyer," Cristina told her, taking another sip. She stood, glancing at the machines clustered around the eleven-year-old, and then at the girl. "I may not be able to fix everything, and even when she wakes up she'll have an uphill battle to fight, but I'm going to do what I can to get Juliet the care she needs."

Cristina pulled out her notepad, jotted her number down, and handed it to Mrs. Cortez.

"Here. This is my personal number. If you have questions, concerns… or if you just want to talk, call me. Leave a message if you need to."

Mrs. Cortez had tears in her eyes, adding to her fragile appearance. She bundled her hands around the paper, holding it like it was precious and priceless. "Dr. Yang, thank you so much, for everything. You have no idea what this means to us."

"I'm going to look out for her to the best of my ability."

Cristina shook both of their hands and left before either of them could try to hug her.

In the hallway, she ran into Alex, who had been listening to her conversation. Before he said anything, he pulled the door so it was cracked. He crossed his arms over his stained scrubs and regarded her with narrowed, judgy eyes. "What was that?"

Cristina played innocent. "I was just talking to the family."

"You were making this case personal."

Cristina poked the dark red rosette on his chest, which could either be cranberry juice or blood, though she doubted he would walk around like that if it was the latter. "What is that?"

"Unrelated."

Alex was grouchy. It was all over his face, written in his posture. He must have had a rough night with his daughter. She was barely seven months old and all kinds of exhausting, especially to someone to was new to the whole parenting thing.

He leaned against the wall – the germy, nasty hospital wall – and ran his hands over his face. "You're too invested in this. What is it about Juliet?"

Cristina shrugged, "I don't know."

"You should figure it out, and let it go."

"You get attached to your patients all the time," Cristina pointed out.

"Yeah, but you're not me. Peds is different."

"I know that."

Cristina had designed a new heart valve designed to fix a tricky defect, and her primary patients were young children. She had left the hospital for Switzerland in the middle of it, and moved her patients with her, continuing her work with them. Every time she lost a kid, it was painful, but none were as devastating at Holly Vaughn. She was one when they met, and tiny, like Henry. She thought of her then, but refused to bring her up as a cheap defense. She meant so much to Cristina.

She just shrugged, letting Alex believe that he cornered the market on sick kids, and changed the subject. "Seriously, is that blood on your scrubs?"

"Juice, from this morning."

"You gave Sarah juice?"

"No, Jo was drinking it and we bumped into each other." Alex swatted his uniform, as if a few swipes of his hand would wipe the stains away. He groaned. "I was gonna check on Juliet before I went to change. How did she do last night?"

"Stable, no change."

"Good, 'cause I found five dollars in Avery's locker. Wanna split a muffin?"

"Do muffins taste better when you buy them with other people's money?"

"Oh, god, yes. Why would you even ask me that?"


	21. Belief

**Chapter 21.**

 **Belief.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 29, 2019.**

It was pouring rain, and she really should have run into the building, but after the week she had there was nothing like just strolling through a thunderstorm. Her shoes sloshed through the river along the curb, water pelted the drawn hood of her rain coat and ran down her arms in slick streams, and up above lightning arched and shot through the clouds.

It was late – _she_ was late – but the lights were still on inside the community center. Cristina opened the door for Collin and he scampered in, shaking himself like a wet dog on the freshly vacuumed carpets. Straight down at the end of the hall, Dean was stapling new flyers to the bulletin board. On the right, the doors to the meeting room, where alcoholics spilled their souls, were open and the room was empty, and on the left, the door to his office was cracked and it was dark inside. It was just the two of them here at the end of the night, like usual.

Dean looked up as the bell rang on the door, smiling, and then went back to what he was doing. Cristina took her time coming down the hall, shrugging off her drenched jacket and laying it across one of the little hall tables. Collin ran into the meeting room through one door and came out of the one closer to Dean, putting his arms behind him like he was an airplane.

"How was work?" Dean asked when she made it to his side.

Cristina looked over his shoulder, uninterested in the things he was posting about the community, but determined to read something other than vital signs and lab results. "Summer camp, huh?"

"More like spring camp. It starts in March and goes until June. Kids come from all over."

"Little alcoholics, huh?"

Dean smiled, putting the last staple in and gesturing down the hall toward his office. "So what was this important case that held you over at the hospital?"

Cristina sunk into her favorite chair, watching idly as Collin dug through his candy bowl. She was convinced Dean had put it there just for him. "I have a new patient, still critical."

"Is she going to make it?"

"Yes, and that might be the crappy part." Cristina watched him, wondering how much she could say, and then decided it didn't matter. Dean ran the alcoholics anonymous meetings. He was the king of confidentiality. "She has some pretty expensive injuries, and she's looking at a lifetime of treatment, and even a transplant if we can find a match. She was in an accident, and the company that… made the thing that hurt her is coming after her parents pretty hard."

Dean sat on the edge of his desk, his arms crossed, and nodded. "Sounds rough."

"It was… it is."

"But you still wanted to come by after, and talk to me?"

"Well, you're basically my therapist at this point." Cristina wondered why she had come, but she had no answer. It had become such a ritual that it was just natural now. "Collin is doing better, I think. I had him at the hospital today and we convinced him to get an MRI done."

Dean smiled at the boy, who was rummaging through his books now. "What about your other concern, the one that got you so down last time we saw one another?"

Her bright cloud darkened. "Oh."

"No change, then?"

"No."

She was still lying to Owen.

"Well, how about we make a change?"

"I'm not-"

"Easy, easy, the change is unrelated, but still important." Dean waited, and smiled when she relented. "What about that brother of yours?"

"Wyatt?"

"Did you have any other brothers?"

"Wyatt is not… he's not my brother."

"Half-brother, then."

She shrugged.

"You should get to know him, build a relationship. You need someone else you can be honest with. Family is so important."

Cristina stayed silent. The last thing she wanted to do was get to know Wyatt. He was strange, and much younger than her, and barely a resident. He looked just like her step-father and spoke just like her mother – the combination was horrifying.

"Or you could reconnect with your mother, but-"

"God, no. Give me Wyatt any day."

He smiled. "You start your new job soon, right?"

She brightened, glad to be distracted. "Yeah. Well, on the first."

"Do you think you can handle having two jobs?"

"Well only one is really hands-on. The PCRC is more… research-y. I'll work at the PCRC in the mornings and the hospital in the evenings. Burke and I already worked it out."

"Burke is your boss?"

Cristina snorted. "Burke is a _long_ story."

"You have a lot of those."

"I guess I do." She scooped Collin up as he tried to walk past her, sitting him in her lap. He spread out like a starfish, trying to ooze to freedom. "Dean… I think I can stop now."

He waited, and when she said nothing, he rolled his hand. "Stop what?"

"Stop this." She gestured around, as if that would explain it. "Stop coming here, to the meetings. It's been seven months since everything happened and I just… I feel like I'm in a good place. Well, I'm in a bad place, but I can handle it. I can handle it now."

Dean took a deep breath, nodding along with her words. "When you first came here you were a shell. Henry was very, very sick, and Collin had just stopped talking, and you were not in a good place with your husband or with your friends. I see a lot of people pass through here with stories like that, and they just keep going, and I never get to see them bounce back from it. But you did. I think that, if you set your mind to it, you can handle whatever life throws at you. I believe that. I believe in you, Cristina."

"So you… think I should stop?"

"I think you can, if you want to. You were only mandated to attend six months of meetings by CPS and you passed that a while ago. I think you should discuss it with your husband before you decide to quit for good, but yes, I think you should take Monday nights for yourself from now on, not as an extra day to work, but time to breathe."

Cristina had not come into the building planning to ask him this, but it came out of her, and she let her curiosity take the wheel. She was surprised by his answer, and a little afraid to go through with it, and glowing with strange pride inside, like coming here had actually been an accomplishment. It was hard to sort out those feelings, so she shut them down. She stood up, a little numb, and pulled the hood up on Collin's raincoat.

"Um, okay then. I guess I should go home before the roads flood."

Dean followed her out to the door, "Drive safe."

"Yeah, I will. Just… on my way home. For good this time."

"Mhm."

"Out there, in the world."

He held the door open for her, and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it so hard it ached. He looked kind of like a soldier, standing straight, wishing her well as they faced the storm outside. "You have my number, and these doors are open for you every Monday, if you want to stop by."

Cristina stepped out into the rain, and Collin ran away from her side, dashing through the dark parking lot and stomping in puddles. She followed slowly, cautiously, feeling like a tether had been cut and she was floating free into the world for the first time in a long time. It felt good.

She stopped outside her car and squinted up into the rain, watching a bolt of lightning streak along the clouds, and it made her laugh.

Inside she knew that she would never be completely free of her vices, that she would always be vulnerable to the monster inside, but for the moment she felt like a weight had been lifted. Dean believed in her. She believed in herself. Who cared what anyone else thought?


	22. Cloak and Dagger

**Chapter 22.**

 **Cloak and Dagger.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 30, 2019.**

His call came in the middle of the night, stirring Cristina from a dream in which she was throwing waffle irons at a ghostly visage of Barbara Streisand. When her eyes first opened, she forgot that the phone had rung, and stared blankly at the dim television across the room, which Owen insisted they needed to 'wind down.' He was still awake, his head propped on one arm, and he half-glared, half-squinted at an infomercial, not even flinching when her phone gave another shrill ring.

Cristina groaned, slapped her hand onto the side table, and groped for her phone. She knocked the alarm clock off, scattered some pens, and then found her target, dragging it across the mattress like it weighed fifty pounds. Her fingers were weak around it.

She positioned it under her face, mashed the green button, and then rested her cheek against it.

"If this is not life or death-"

"Yeah, yeah," Alex grumbled on the other end, sounding tired himself. "You'll twist my nipples, or whatever. I need you to come get Sarah from daycare."

It took her a long second to get what he was saying, but she still said, "What?"

A door closed in the background. "I'm working a double and Jo isn't picking up the phone and she can't spend all night here, so I need you to come get her."

She snorted at his attitude, somewhere along the border of frustrated and straight up sassy, and laid there for a moment pondering how much she did _not_ want a crying baby in her house. Henry rarely cried. Most of the crying came from Collin in the midst of an episode.

Alex groaned, "Please, Cristina. I'll owe you one."

"Oh, you'll owe me big. Your kid is a mess."

She almost thought she could hear him smiling through the phone. "Oh, yeah? You're practically running a circus over there."

"I don't have a leotard that'll fit her, sorry."

"I'm sure you'll work something out."

Cristina stretched, sighed, and pretended she was deciding. "I suppose I can cut up the curtains… how would she look in a floral pattern?"

"Thank you."

She hung up, set an alarm for five minutes, and then flung her phone into the dark abyss of the other side of the room. She would be annoyed enough to get up and find it later. She turned and snuggled into Owen, glad when he wrapped his arm tightly around her torso. From the look in his eyes, she could see he had no idea what that conversation was about, or maybe even that she had been on the phone. Was he really awake?

Cristina waved her hand in front of his face, and a half-second too late, he flinched.

"Go to bed, dummy."

Owen grunted, his eyes sidling toward her, and then back to his other side. "Can you get him?"

Cristina sighed, lamenting losing her five minutes of freedom, and dragged herself out of bed. She got on her knees on the other side, watching her youngest son as he lay sleeping against Owen. He stirred at her presence, his eyes opening as though he could really see her, and a slow smile wormed its way across his face.

She entertained the idea that he was looking at her for a split second, because in the dark she couldn't see his eyes, and then she plucked him up. Henry melted against her chest, and Owen melted into the covers, and Cristina would have done anything to crawl back into bed and join him – but she had to be a good friend, or whatever.

XxX

It was quiet at the hospital, which made Cristina wonder if they were holding Alex over in anticipation of some major emergency – so she kept to the side hallways and tried not to be noticed. Most of the other kids were gone from the daycare, with only one exception other than her target. Cora Pierce. She was Maggie's daughter – daughter of her only enemy in the hospital. She was only a month older than Collin – so Maggie kept telling her – and all kinds of cute, but Cristina gave her a weary look as she crossed the colorful, padded floor.

Cora looked back at her, curious, but quiet.

Getting the kid was uneventful, but sneaking out with her was hard. Sarah was seven months old and she looked just like her father, from her wide, sparkling blue eyes to the blonde curls pouring over her head. She looked like a toy doll, cute enough to be on a cereal box, and Alex loved showing her off – so most of the staff recognized her, and wanted to say goodnight.

Cristina got frustrated and started giving them 'the hand' after a while, rushing her way between floors and practically sprinting back to the car. Sarah thought it was funny. She met up with Alex, who installed his car seat in her backseat, and then said his own special goodnight to Sarah. While he drooled on her, she peeped in to look at her sleeping son.

She was all set to leave when someone tapped on her window.

It was Adham.

Her hands tightened on the wheel and she considered driving away, whether or not she accidentally squashed some toes. But then she looked around at the almost-empty parking lot and felt a sudden desire to give him a few moments with Henry. After quitting her meetings, after realizing she believed in herself again, everything seemed like a good idea to her.

Adham held Henry gingerly, as always, like he might break the boy, and tried not to wake him. He asked Cristina about his day, his health, and all the standard things. He had an entire list he went through every time he saw him.

It was sweet and quick. Cristina took Henry back and got to work strapping him in.

And then the worst possible thing happened.

"Hey, Cristina, I thought you were off today!"

Cristina whirled, and Adham whirled, and Henry stirred, and then slumped back over like a passed out drunk. Callie was coming toward them, a smile on her face for a moment. It quickly became a frown, a strangely curious frown.

"Um, why wasn't I invited to the secret parking lot meeting?"

Cristina could have said a lot of things to get her off the hook, but the damn thing had pierced her brain and jumbled up her thoughts. Her mouth felt heavy, and the guilt of what she was doing washed over her again, clouding everything. All of her easy explanations drained away.

Callie reached them, now frowning harder, and looked into the car at Henry. And then she looked at Adham, who was staring intently, almost defensively, back at her, and then she looked at Cristina, who was wondering how far away the Mexican border was.

"So… what's up?" Callie said, folding her arms with an unwelcome authority.

Cristina shut the door to the van and hopped back into her seat before either of them could get a word off. She drove away, not even glancing back.

All the way home, she worried about what Callie might have heard before she said anything. Cristina had been telling Adham about Henry, about his habits, about his interests, and those were not necessarily healthcare related. She had looked between the two of them with a glimmer of something in her eyes, and Cristina was replacing the confusion with knowing. She knew. She had to know! How could she not? She knew most of what occurred while Cristina was away, knew where Adham was from, and where Cristina had traveled. She could put the pieces together. Callie was smart, and suspicious, and nosy. She was going to find out.

She was going to find out, and she was going to ruin everything.


	23. Tell the Truth

**A/N: Hey guys! Today is my birthday and my lovely client let me have the day off, so I thought I would post this chapter to celebrate!**

 **XxX**

 **Chapter 23.**

 **Tell the Truth.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 31, 2019.**

Cristina woke up to the sensation of a little hand touching her cheek. She became aware of the world very slowly, taking in the couch cushion under her, the sound of the TV buzzing nearby, and the feeling of a baby lying on her chest. When she finally opened her eyes, Sarah was holding her head up, staring at her, and then she grinned. Cristina could not help but smile back. It was a baby thing. It was like they thought everyone died at night, and when they saw someone in the morning the first thing they did was grin.

She sat up, holding Sarah to her chest, and then sitting her up on the pile of blankets that rolled off of them. Owen must have covered her up. She smelled urine and wrinkled her nose, dismayed to find the front of her shirt a little damp. She had forgotten to switch Sarah to an overnight diaper.

Owen looked out from the kitchen, waving his spatula. "Please tell me you didn't kidnap her."

"I prefer to call it surprise babysitting."

"Alex working over again?"

"Yep." Cristina stretched the kinks out of her shoulders, groaning. "Why did you let me sleep on the couch? You know it sucks."

"I just woke up an hour ago – and you looked so peaceful."

Cristina chucked a pillow in his direction, swept the baby up in her arms, and headed for the bathroom. She found the tub slowly filling with warm water.

"I was gonna give Collin a bath!" Owen called in explanation.

She cut the water off and dumped Sarah in instead, washing off the urine smell and wrapping her in one of their fluffy towels. She passed Owen on the way through the living room and he handed her a spatula – somehow they switched places, and Owen grappled with Collin in the tub while Cristina monitored a skillet full of bacon and eggs.

Cristina was strangely chipper that morning. She danced around the kitchen with Sarah, making her laugh, bringing a delightful sparkle into those pretty blue eyes, and when Owen passed by she spanked him with the spatula. She passed out breakfast and set the kids down at the table, strapping Sarah into Henry's highchair and sitting him in her lap instead. He chewed his food carefully, thoughtfully, and listened intently to his siblings.

"You know, you start tomorrow," Owen said on the drive to the hospital.

Cristina stretched out in the passenger's seat, dusting a crumb off of her scrubs. "Yep."

"Fancy new job, big office."

"Yep."

"Is that why you're so perky?"

Cristina pointed a finger at him, and shook her head. "No. I get my interns today, _finally_."

"Ahh. Minions."

" _Minions_ ," she repeated gleefully.

"Naming scheme?"

"Not sure yet. I was thinking about naming them after candy bars, but…"

"…you thought that might seem a little racist?"

She laughed. "Maybe I'll use their real names."

Owen faked astonishment. "Interns have _real_ names?"

It was busy at the hospital, a sharp contrast to the night before. Cristina strode in confidently, Henry on her hip, two toddlers following her, and a grouchy four-year-old rubbing his eyes at the caboose. Owen had taken over with Sarah, tucking her under his shoulder like a football and making her laugh – the sound filled the halls and brought people to their doorways, smiling.

Cristina paged Alex from the daycare, greeting the newest day caretaker, Maura, who had taken over after Mrs. Gardner was asked to step down. She gave a report on her spawn, warning her that Collin was in a mood, and thanking her, again, because she was his _favorite_ teacher. She waited with baby Sarah in her arms by the door, pointing her toward the hall when Alex stepped out of the elevator. His face lit up at the sight of his daughter.

Being a dad was good for him. Alex and Jo were a little rocky sometimes, both of them attitude-prone, but nothing lit him up like seeing that little girl.

"How was she?" he asked, bringing her blanket up so she could not touch his scrubs.

"She peed on me," Cristina reported, flattening her hair with one hand. "You forgot to pack her brush, by the way, so I sprayed her with hairspray."

Alex glared at her.

"Just a little, I swear. She was out of control. I couldn't let her be seen like that."

Alex smelled her head, wrinkling his nose. "Gross."

"Yeah, well, pack a brush next time, and some shampoo or something."

"What do you use for Henry?"

"Old Spice."

Alex laughed, a welcome sound that boomed through the hallway and startled Sarah. "Really?"

"It makes him smell so _good_." Cristina motioned to the boy, who was crawling over the squishy carpet in the middle of the room. He loved the way it felt on his hands. "Go on, smell him."

Alex seemed like he was going to reject that offer, but he cocked an eyebrow, defiant, and handed Sarah back to her. Cristina laughed as he plucked Henry up, gave him a good sniff, and put him back on the carpet. He nodded to himself, "I see your point."

"Take your baby, you weirdo."

"Thank you, seriously." Alex took Sarah back delicately, cradling her against his chest and rubbing circles over her back. "And sorry about the short notice."

Cristina meant it when she said, "Anytime."

She stayed for a little while, biding her time until her shift was due to start, and enjoying watching the other kids interact with Henry. In the short time that he had been coming to the daycare, the other kids had learned to treat him more cautiously because he was blind. Evelyn was one of the reasons for it, because if anyone came near him, she came over from wherever she was playing and herded them away, or repeated what her father said to her, "Be gentle. Be nice." Cristina wished she was that gentle with her other siblings.

On her way out of the daycare, her great mood crashed.

Callie was waiting for her, her hands on her hips. She had a vibe about her that made Cristina aware, immediately, that the jig was up. Callie had discovered the truth overnight.

She followed the other surgeon into an on-call room, where their presence made one of the residents skitter away like a roach in daylight. Callie stood facing Cristina, prickling, and seemed to search for the right words.

Finally, she settled with, "I know."

Cristina waited.

"I know Adham Farrah is Henry's father. I saw you last night – I heard you talking."

She had expected this, but hearing it out loud still sent a thrill through her heart. It was her biggest secret after all, the only one with the potential to destroy her life. Cristina didn't try to deny it. It would be pointless, and lying to Callie, right to her face, felt wrong.

Callie went on, "You need to tell Owen the truth. He has a right to know."

Cristina was surprised by her own calm voice.

"No."

"He has a right to know!"

Cristina saved her passionate rebuttal for another time, cutting the emotion out her voice. Callie was right, after all, and there was no denying it.

She said rather plainly, "If you tell Owen, you and I are done."

Callie recoiled like she had been slapped. "How could you say that?"

It was an empty threat, because Callie was an old friend, and she meant a lot to Cristina, but the dry delivery and even expression on her face made it seem real. She saw herself in the mirror and thought it was strange that she was so calm.

"Owen it my friend, too," Callie said. She considered Cristina, watched her long and hard, and seemed to come to a conclusion of her own. "He deserves to know. Tell the truth, or I will."

Callie left, yanking the door open so hard it hit one of the bunks and made a loud, metallic sound. Without her there, Cristina allowed herself a frown. It turned into a scowl as the options were laid out in front of her. She was supposed to come clean, or Callie would blow this whole thing out of the water. But would she really? Was she bold enough?

Cristina left the room, and left her anger behind. She was not going to let Callie ruin her mood. She was having a good day. Her family had had a great morning. She was going to work at a prestigious research hospital starting tomorrow. She was at a tipping point, rediscovering herself after so long lost at sea – and no one was going to ruin that for her.

She started her shift and met her new interns, putting Callie on a back burner.

She had six new minions, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wearing their brand new monogrammed lab coats and stethoscopes around their necks. Cristina struck the first blow when she saw them, snapping, "Put those stethoscopes in your pockets. Jeez. Have you ever heard the word 'fomite'? And you, with the crazy hair, get a few dozen hairbands and hold it down, or turn in your doctor card, because I can't have you shedding on my patients."

She got incredulous looks, and the one on the end with the puffy black hair started scraping it down, struggling with a hairband that one of the men handed her.

Cristina got a good look at all of them, moving from one to the other.

First there was Melody Curtis. She was unique in that she was only 24, having graduated high school at 16, her undergraduate at 19, and medical school at 23, at Stanford. Cristina knew she came from cardio royalty – her father was one the pioneering cardiologists in Puerto Rico and now he owned one of the biggest medical supply companies on the west coast. Cristina had chosen her, specifically, despite her request to be placed in ortho or plastics. She had a feeling about her, and she also wanted to use her as a translation slave, because she had heard the kid spoke four different languages, including American Sign Language. She was very traditionally beautiful, with olive skin and dark eyes, but she was also a little too bubbly, practically bouncing out of her skin while Cristina stood there assessing her. She was going to have to beat that out of her.

Beside her was the tall, traditional, token white guy, Nicholas Day, with a name that betrayed just how plain he was, inside and out. Cristina saw a bit of Alex in him, in the way he stood with his arms crossed, but he still managed to look nervous.

Nicholas was flanked by a much more interesting man – Lawson Madison. He had a normal record, an average run in medical school, but he tested extraordinarily well. It was random chance that she got him, but a little ironic. He was mixed, with skin like Henry, and thick hair rolled into tight braids over his scalp. He looked at the floor when she focused on him, twiddling his hands.

She moved on to the next in line, Hannah Booth. She stared right at Cristina, an unsettling tenacity in her gaze. Cristina was really tempted to use a naming scheme based on Disney movies, so she could call this red-headed, blue-eyed woman Merida for the rest of her internship.

Jayla West, the one with the crazy hair, had managed to restrain it by now. She stood calmly, looking back at Cristina with curiosity and intelligence, without the same fire as Hannah. Cristina had hand-chosen her because of the stellar recommendations she received from her professors from medical school, and the letter Jayla had written to her about her interest in cardio. She had excellent test scores, but she had arrived her first day with a wreath of brown hair sprouting from her head like a chia pet. Nevertheless, Cristina found something she liked in her.

Her last intern, and maybe the least qualified among them, was Rebecca Key. It took a lot of pressure from Webber to make Cristina agree to the mousy girl. Usually interns were given out regardless of any objection, but Rebecca was a special case. Her scores were borderline and her recommendations had been a little lackluster. Webber insisted she learn under Cristina, to give her a little shape – Cristina had suggested he put the girl with Meredith, to give her six instead of Cristina, but he admitted that Meredith was a little too harsh for her. Cristina had gawked at him, and he had ended the conversation there.

Giving interns to an attending was new to them all, because the residents usually took on that burden, but as the hospital grew and the program increased in size, the top interns were placed with attendings instead. These interns were supposed to be the best, the brightest, and the most likely to succeed – the most likely to be able to handle a faster learning environment, more challenging surgeries, and longer hours.

She was going to test that.

Once she was done putting them in the hot seat, one at a time, Cristina decided for good that she did not want to name them. She was going to try something different this year. She handed out their pagers, phone lists, trauma protocols, and chain-of-command cards silently.

When she was out of gear, she started down the hallway. "Come on."

She walked briskly through the hospital, followed by her six little ducklings, and introduced them to some of the most important places in the hospital. She recognized the wonder in their eyes as they looked into the OR, and remembered how excited she had been to hold a scalpel the first day. Nothing was more satisfying for a surgical intern.

Cristina brought them to recovery last, tapping on a familiar door, and then them into the room of the comatose eleven-year-old, Juliet Cortez.

"I would like to introduce you all to my priority patient, Juliet Cortez." She nodded to her parents, who welcomed any variation from their ritual of sitting by her bedside, silently hoping for recovery. "Juliet arrived five days ago after a curling iron exploded in her hands. She presented with severe burns to her face and torso and plastic shrapnel lodged in her heart and lungs. She was initially in surgery for ten hours, during which Dr. Korev and I removed the fragments from her heart and restored blood flow. Her left lung was permanently damaged and her right is only 20% functional. She will remain on the ventilator until donor lungs can be found."

She watched all of their faces as she went through the report, satisfied that some of them looked fascinated, and empathetic. She picked the most empathetic, Lawson, and snapped her fingers at him, beckoning him to her side of the bed.

"I want you to stay with her today. Juliet is your job, got it?"

He nodded sheepishly, looking down at the girl. Cristina knew he felt the weight of her life resting on his shoulders, but that was not exactly true. Juliet was hooked up to electronic monitors, which constantly reported her oxygen saturation and vitals. If anything fell out of range, she and Alex would be alerted immediately.

She took the rest of the interns outside, planning on assigning them all to mundane tasks to keep them busy and test their skills from medical school, but Melody Curtis spoke up first.

"Is it true that one of the interns gets to assist on a surgery during their first shift?"

Cristina felt a wave of nostalgia, and she laughed at the question. She had a bypass scheduled for tomorrow evening, and she already knew who would be accompanying her.

"Oh, yeah. Very true."

She forgot about her talk with Callie, about her panic the night before, and focused instead on this new attitude she was trying to mold for herself. She called it classic Cristina, the person she was before everything got to her, before she had kids, before the sinkhole and before her hilariously ill-fated romantic endeavors. She still had problems, sure, but she could handle it. She could deal with it. She was in charge now, and no one was going to tell her differently.


	24. Split

**Chapter 24.**

 **Split.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **July 31, 2019.**

Cristina raised her stuffed elephant dramatically in the air, uttered one last fateful _toot_ , and then let it drop to the carpet, where it rolled and then went eerily still. Noah let out a shrill cry of victory, holding up his superhero and waving it around.

"You monster," Cristina breathed, feigning devastation.

Noah picked up the elephant and dropped it in her lap, saying, "Life!"

His sister snatched the elephant before she had a chance to pick it up, whacking her brother in the face with it and knocking him down. She made a _toot_ of her own and declared her victory, "Win!"

Cristina watched them tussle, going back and forth arguing about who had really won that battle, the way that only two-year-olds could. Behind her, Henry was holding himself steady while he ran his sensitive hands over the top of the dollhouse, and the rest of the house was silent. She glanced around for Collin, curious, and decided to track him down.

He was in his room, sitting on his bed and drawing. Usually they would have Adham over on a quiet afternoon like this, so he could work with her mute son and help identify what was going wrong in his head, but she had told him to stay away for now.

Collin noticed his absence. She could tell.

She left him to draw, stepping back into the main room and finding the play area a tad emptier. Noah was holding both the superhero and the elephant, and Henry was sitting by the dollhouse now, turning a doll over and over in his hands.

Evelyn was gone.

"Scooby?" Cristina called, checking the kitchen, the bathroom, and the nursery. She looked in the master bedroom last, hoping to catch her daughter playing in the big tub again.

It was empty.

Cristina went back out, getting a little anxious, and asked Noah, "Where is your sister?"

Noah looked up from playing, glanced around, and shook his head.

She groaned, and then saw that the front door was not completely closed, and it had a little claw toy lying next to it. Evelyn was not tall enough to reach the knob, unless she used that toy.

She found the kid outside, sitting triumphantly on the steps and pulling a leaf apart in her fingers. She looked up and grinned at Cristina, like she was taunting her, celebrating her victory.

"You smart little demon," Cristina said, grabbing the girl up in her arms and looking out at the yard, calm and tranquil as dusk approached. "I guess we're putting a baby knob on the front door."

"Door!" Evelyn announced.

Cristina flicked her nose, and delivered her inside, shutting the door after her and going to lay on the porch swing. It was pleasantly warm out and fireflies drifted through the air, flashing, announcing the impending night. Owen would be home soon, coming out of a nice, long meeting to accompany a nice, long shift, and she planned to pin him to the bed and lay on his chest like a content cat for at least two hours. She really needed it.

Within a few minutes of her closing it, the door cracked open, and Evelyn peaked out at her, a mischievous smile on her face. Cristina beckoned her, saying, "Come here, Button."

Evelyn dashed across the porch, nearly knocking herself out on the moving swing. Cristina stopped it with one foot, picked the kid up, and set her on her stomach. Evelyn looked out at the yard, watching the fireflies, with eyes as bold and blue as her father's.

While they lay there together, she thought about her interns, wondered about their futures, wondered if she would end up liking them, or tolerating them. She thought about her first few days with Bailey and wondered what they thought of her. She was full of that today – _wonder_. It was everywhere, all over, like she was young again and the world was a mystery. She had other things on her mind, like her half-brother, Wyatt, who had just begun as a first-year resident, and her ever-burning feud with Maggie Pierce, and her conversation with Callie.

But those things were in the back of her mind, and Evelyn came to the front. She thought of how different she was from Noah, despite having shared the womb with him, and how much trouble she would be as she got older and smarter. She smiled at her, and tousled her hair, and poked her stomach to make her laugh, wondering suddenly where her new nickname had come from. She had never called her Button before. Usually she chose a mythological monster, or just Scooby.

By the time his truck started down the driveway, Cristina had decided that her twins were a manifestation of the two sides of her _husband_ , and really nothing like her at all – the calm, sweet side had become Noah, and the wild side, the tough soldier side, had become Evelyn. She loved them for how much like him they were. With that decision came another, that Collin was a lot more like Cristina, and somewhat like his departed mother in his social shortcomings. Henry was too little and too underdeveloped to really be _like_ anyone, but Cristina saw him as a mix of many different things – strong like Owen, for all the fighting he had to do when he was born, and tenacious like her, with an attitude despite how little he was, and gentle like Meredith, and sweet like Shane, and exotic like Adham.

She was picturing their futures, with Collin as a somber schoolteacher, and Noah and Evelyn top notch, competitive surgeons, or police officers, and Henry as a musician, stroking his instruments with the precision only the visually impaired could muster, when Owen walked up the front steps.

He stopped, sighed at her with red, tired eyes, and set his briefcase against the door, cocking an eyebrow when it swung open under the weight. Without the heart or the energy to pull it closed again, he left it that way and came to join her on the swing. Cristina lifted her legs and Owen sat at the end, rubbing her calves, giving Evelyn a smile.

She had a lot of things to say to him, a lot of wonderings for the day, a lot of secrets at the tip of her tongue, but having him there dampened her thoughts. She was content to sit there, to watch the sun set in his company. Both of them let the day wash away in silence.


	25. Magnetic

**Chapter 25.**

 **Magnetic.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **August 1, 2019.**

Something about a polished desk made her want to put her feet up on it, so Cristina cleared away the keyboard, the paperwork, and the little knick-knacks Shane had gotten her to warm the place up, and crossed her legs on the lovely surface. She felt like she had gone back in time, back to her first day working at the Institute in Switzerland, before she lost Phyllis, before Collin was even born, before the twins and Henry and reuniting with Owen.

Before life got so much more complicated.

Cristina stayed that way for a while, letting her mind run wild. Owen was working first shift at the hospital today, and she had sent one of her minions to check and see if her two problem children, Callie and Adham, were also working. It was a real secret party at the hospital. Callie might let her secret out and ruin her life while she was right across the road, and still too far away to defend herself. Adham might go to the daycare to visit Henry, which Cristina has explicitly forbidden, and Owen might walk in and find him hovering over Henry. It was possible, also, that Owen would make the connection himself – but that was the least likely scenario. Cristina had decided long ago that Henry looked nothing like his father, with a different skin tone, and features that were much closer to hers. His hair was also getting thick and puffy, less curly than when he was born, and his sightless eyes were getting darker as he got older, like hers.

She might have been stressed by all of these possibilities flitting around in her head, but being at this new research facility, with her feet propped up on her new desk, with bright future mapped out before her, took the edge off of it.

Shane came to her office around noon, delivering a stack of papers he had compiled for her. He took a seat across from her desk, mimicking her posture, and they started filling things out in tandem. It was just like old times, except Shane was no longer her student, but her colleague, and she was not the head of this place, but a lowly employee.

It felt better that way.

"If they shortened this paperwork, maybe more people would revolutionize medicine," Shane grumbled as he turned over yet another form, sliding it across her desk for her to sign.

Cristina scribbled her signature and the date, sliding it back. "Maybe."

"Why are you so… chipper?"

"I got a shiny new office."

Shane was still a young man, though deep into his thirties now. His smile made him look like a plucky intern again. Having him there was a comfort he could never understand.

He waited a few minutes before speaking again. "If you want, since you have two jobs now, I could help out with Henry. I could take him to see Dr. Farrah sometimes."

Shane had offered that before. Cristina nodded to the idea. She had gotten the same from Meredith, and it lifted the burden away from her a little. Sometimes she thought about the great lengths she was going to, just to keep Owen from finding out the truth, and it made her feel like a villain. It was especially hard when Owen twirled around the house with Henry in his arms, or held his hands to help him walk, or stayed up with him in the middle of the night because he had a fever. Callie was right. Owen was his dad, and he had a right to know about Adham.

She had that on her mind when she filled out the last document in her pile, and placed it lightly on the appropriate stack.

"I can finish these," Shane said when she tried to skim some off of his pile. "You should go catch the end of that conference. I know you have a crush on the keynote speaker."

Cristina nodded. "I would definitely leave Owen for Oliver Brightly. He knows it, too."

She got up, stretched, and gazed out the window, happy for her view of the central fountain, and flicked Shane in the ear as she passed him. He swatted at her.

Downstairs in the auditorium, the seats were packed with doctors and researchers attending the opening moments of the Neo-Nate Cardiothoracic Conference. Cristina slipped into the back and watched Oliver Brightly cross the stage with youthful vigor, talking about revolutionary medicine and surgical trials going on at the PCRC at the moment. He was over six feet tall, requiring elevated surgical tables, but his face was soft and boyish. He had a web of curly blonde hair atop his head and eyes as blue as that bottled lightning people put out on Halloween – but Cristina was not attracted to his looks. His mind was something spectacular. He had conceived the Pearlman Centers and made them a reality, brick by brick. He was an incredibly accomplished surgeon, and not even forty yet, with this magical ability to mend very sick hearts.

His speech was drawing to an end when Burke came to stand beside her. He smiled, folded his hands behind his back, and leaned in to say, "He really knows how to kick off a conference."

"Please tell me these people aren't staying here," Cristina responded.

"No, they're all getting bussed to the convention center down on Main Street, after the tour."

Cristina looked out over the crowd, recognizing some of the surgeons in attendance. "He sure can pull the numbers."

"Oliver is magnetic," Burke said simply.

Cristina agreed She watched Oliver Brightly as he came down from the stage and clasped the hand of the first person to approach him. Even as the auditorium began to empty, he moved through them expertly, delivering smiles and greetings all the way. He stopped to fluff his tailored gray suit every now and then, the very definition of high class, but there was this humble light in his eyes, that he was at the same time very proud and very surprised by what he had created.

She could think of no better word for him than 'magnetic.'

Burke nudged her shoulder and motioned toward the stage. "He wanted to talk to you." He nudged her again when she didn't move, laughing, "Cristina? Close your mouth."

She shut her jaw with an audible _click_ , and followed him as he carved a path toward the stage. Burke was a big guy and the crowd seemed to part in his wake, leaving Cristina a free place behind him – she put her hand on the back of his black suit, regretting that she had only dressed business casual today, and got glimpses of their destination as they walked.

Cristina shook the awe off of her face as they came upon the stage, a towering thing made of midnight-blue stained wood, with thick red curtains waiting in the wings. It was much nicer than the stage at Grey-Sloan, but then again, research facilities raked in way more money than hospitals.

"Preston!" Oliver saw Burke approaching over the tops of the heads of his guests, and he quickly excused himself. He barreled toward Burke and wrapped him in a bear hug. "I looked for you when my plane landed, but I think you were in a meeting."

Burke waited until the man released him to respond, clasping him on the shoulder – Cristina suspected he was holding him at bay, to avoid another surprise hug, which Oliver looked more than willing to deliver. "Sorry about that, a trial interview went a little long."

Oliver stared at him for a long moment, like he was drinking him in, and then he finally turned to Cristina. He smiled, an almost dizzying expression, and held out his hand. "Oliver Brightly."

Cristina took his hand and shook it, "Cristina Yang."

"Oh, I know. I know." He laughed. "I've read everything you've ever published, and I'm a big fan of your work with the Lotus Valves."

Cristina was thrown by that, and she grasped for a response, "Um, thank you."

"I hope you've liked it here so far."

"Well, today is actually my first day."

"Ahh. Welcome, then." Oliver shook both of their hands again. "I have to get going, to lead some of the tours. But it was nice seeing you two." He flitted off in the same fashion that he had appeared, greeting people enthusiastically left and right all the way to the back of the auditorium.

Cristina watched him go, murmuring, "I just met Oliver Brightly. I touched his hand. His operating hand. I touched his surgery hand, Burke."

Burke looked at her seriously. "Were you ever this impressed to meet me?"

"I was at first, at that stupid mixer they held before we came in as interns, but you turned out to be a real drag." She found his expression had deepened into a scowl, and she patted his shoulder, giving him a smile. "Lighten up."

He gave a settling _hmph_ and strode off toward a side door. Cristina followed the crowd back to the entrance, getting another passing glance at Oliver as he led a tour group down into the main lobby, no doubt to show off its lovely pillars. She turned right, ran up the stairs, and went back to her office, breathless, to tell Shane about her encounter.

He was even less thrilled than Burke.


	26. Earned

**Chapter 26.**

 **Earned.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **August 1, 2019.**

Cristina had a list of things she never wanted to do. First and foremost on that list was that she never wanted to sit outside one of those little infant life support incubators again. Her list had a lot of things on it, a lot of things she never wanted to feel, to see, to experience, and many of them had been added within the last few years, but one of them was painfully fresh. She never wanted to have to tell Juliet Cortez how the rest of her life would play out.

She was so caught on this desire that she was relieved when she came into the room and the girl was still sleeping peacefully in her coma, and then she immediately felt guilty for it. What a vile thing to want, to keep a child in this state to avoid an ugly truth.

Lawson stood up as she entered the room, like a soldier standing for his commanding officer, and set the notebook he had been writing in gently on the side table. Ernie and Gina Cortez were sitting by her bedside, as always, and Gina had a tattered old bible open on her lap, but it looked like it had just been sitting there for a while as the woman forgot to read it. She was gazing at her daughter instead, the questions in her eyes making the air heavy.

Cristina nodded to both of them in turn, gave Juliet her usual, quiet greeting, and then summoned her intern from the room. He grabbed his notebook and scurried after her.

Once they were outside, Cristina rolled her hand expectantly.

Lawson stuttered at the start, but his voice smoothed out. By the time they got into the surgical program, interns were used to reporting. It came as second nature.

"She had a quiet night, barely any variation in her vitals. Her remaining lung maintained its previous functionality and the respirator has been effective. Her parents have some questions for you, though, and a lot of lawyers have been-"

"Irrelevant." Cristina waved, cutting him off. "How often are you auscultating her chest?"

"Every half hour."

"Good. Do you have anything else to report?"

"Her parents-"

"Pertaining to the status of the patient, Dr. Maddison."

He clacked his jaw shut and swallowed, shaking his head.

Cristina surveyed him, deciding he was taking this assignment seriously enough. Interns treated every patient like it could be their last – and it very well could be, if they messed it up. But there was a cool confidence in him, even if he had a stuttering start and even if he deviated a little from the traditional reporting blueprint. She liked it.

"What have you been writing in that notebook?"

He looked down at the notebook in his hands, clearing his throat. "Well, I had so much time, since I just had the one patient, and-"

Cristina cocked an eyebrow, and he slid into silence.

"Um, I was writing down the steps for a lung transplant."

"Let me see."

He handed over the book, and she was impressed to find that he had written the procedure for the operation, and many variations of it, over and over in his notebook, even drawing diagrams and adding labels. He made lists of the required equipment, of the personnel, and even timed each procedure with moderate accuracy. He certainly had stars in his eyes.

She gave it back to him, and waved him off. "Your first shift ends soon. Go take a break."

"But I hardly did anything, not like the others."

"You did plenty." Cristina hesitated, and then motioned to the room they had just come out of. "I would rather interpret a thousand blood tests, do a million rectal exams, or bumble around the hospital with a billion fussy grannies than sit in a room with a broken little girl and her parents all day and all night. You did plenty. Now go take a break before I change my mind."

He skittered away, and Cristina stepped back into the room.

"Dr. Yang," Ernie said as soon as he saw her. He was not the best at English, so his words came out a little jumbled. "Our lawyer wants to go ahead, to write the papers for the case."

"He needs to know what the costs will be," Gina added.

Cristina knew what they wanted, and she agreed to do it. She would take what she knew about Juliet and estimate her future medical costs, from her transplant to her day to day care. She would factor in lost wages and emotional damage, work from the burns to the internal damage, and use numbers to express how much the company needed to give the Cortez family. It was a dirty business, because everyone wanted a cut and nobody wanted to be the one paying out, but it was necessary. Without that money, the Cortez family would never recover from a blow like this.

With that promise made, she went to the nurses' station and beeped her interns, letting them gather before she gave them their new, but no less pointless, assignments. She was trying to frustrate them, to see who would whine and who would try to tough it out. So far her biggest whiner was Melody Curtis, with Nicholas Day nipping at her heels.

She had been working at the PCRC all day, but her fellow attendings and the residents left her little notes about her interns, both annoyed and impressed, and she had read them on her way in the door, like the dutiful mother hen she was. She was starting to learn where their weaknesses were, and she intended to pick at them until they firmed up, or until they fell to pieces.

She assigned Melody to the crash team, hoping to iron out that aversion she seemed to have to touching people, and put Nicholas on sutures down in the pit, where he could drop that cocky attitude of his and focus on the sharp twinge in the muscles of his hands. Lawson Maddison would go back to Juliet after his break, and Hannah and Rebecca, who were reported as being friendly toward one another, were separated, with Hannah in the pit and Rebecca doing small, medial tasks at the behest of whichever resident was working general at the moment. When she came to Jayla, she gave her a long, hard look, considering her.

Jayla checked her hair, probably wondering if it had sprung loose again.

She had been in quite a few notes because she was clever, if not overly skilled. Her bubbly brown eyes reminded Cristina of Shane and she already had a soft spot for her, but she wanted to test her, to figure out if she should put the effort in.

"Dr. West, you will be scrubbing in with me this afternoon. I have a bypass scheduled."

Melody scoffed from the desk, and then slapped her hand over her mouth.

Cristina did not miss her irritation. "Something you wanted to say, Dr. Curtis?"

For a moment she was silent, and Cristina thought she had lost her nerve, but she removed her hand and looked between Cristina and Jayla West. "I thought I would get the surgery, is all."

"Why?"

"I did really well on my tests and at rounds this morning-"

"Slow down, and stop talking like a whiny little girl." Cristina held up her hand, cutting off the chatter that had started flowing from her mouth. "Why did you do to earn this surgery?"

"Nothing, but-"

"But?"

"Neither did she!"

"You sound like a kid. I want an ice-cream because my sister gets one. Instead of focusing on _her_ reward, you should try to do something for yourself, so next time you have a better argument for me. If you want to whine, at least do it right."

"But-"

"Not another word." Cristina held up her hand, shooing her. "You have a crash cart to get to."

Melody sulked away, and the others dispersed, leaving Jayla standing there with Cristina. She had a wide grin on her face, untouched by that outburst from her fellow intern.

Cristina groaned at the expression. "If you keep that up, you might end up in the gallery."


	27. I Would Have Given You All of My Heart

**Chapter 27.**

 **I Would Have Given You All of my Heart.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **August 2, 2019.**

Shane strapped him in carefully, like he was putting sutures through a fragile heart, pressed his hands into the chains, now smelling of alcohol from where he had cleaned them. Henry grasped them, chubby little fingers folding in on each other, and kicked his feet back and forth, making the whole swing rock. It was the smallest one they had, and yet Shane still had to put a stuff animal through one of the leg holes so the baby would not slide out. He had always been so small.

He started with gentle pushes, giving him altitude. Henry opened his blind brown eyes wide as the wind washed over him. He liked wind. Shane rolled down the windows whenever he had him in the car. He must have felt weightless in that swing, like a bird, because it put a brought smile on his face and he forgot the chains. He flapped his arms around, squealing.

Shane had taken him to the park a dozen times, but something was different now. It was nearing sundown and the whole park was deserted. It was quiet between squeals – Henry could make noise as well as he could listen. Every time his mouth shut, he cocked his head into the wind, black curls bobbing about, and tried to _hear_ where Shane was. He would drop a finger on his shoulder, bump his knee, and Henry would suddenly be looking right at him. It was eerie and fascinating, how a blind baby tracked sounds. Maybe the wind helped him.

It was different because Shane had a memory on the edge of his mind, the direct opposite of the warm August breeze of the park, and so long ago.

It had been right before Christmas, and Shane had watched the parade flow through town earlier. He was enthralled by the music, blaring in three different languages. He stood under the stadium arch while snow poured over the parking lot and considered leaving his car and just walking home. Joy did that to him, made him feel invincible. But his phone rang, and it was _her_.

He met her at the airport. Just seeing her made everything feel merrier. Cristina Yang had been a vision in a black pantsuit, a little tipsy from the bottles on the plane, but still full of the fire and the life that he had missed since she left Switzerland. She let her suitcase go when she saw him – he remembered hearing it _thunk_ on the sidewalk – and hugged him with uncharacteristic affection. It was only temporary, he told himself. Cristina hated hugs.

She sat up with him into the late hours of the night, talking about her job, the places she had been, the people she had met, and she was more alive than he had ever seen her, or that might have been the alcohol. Shane had listened with honest interest, hanging on every word, offering what he could of comfort and support. She was his mentor after all, the woman who had taken him and molded him into a real surgeon, and he owed her everything.

But it was more than that.

It was impossible not to love Cristina. It was not a choice, but a compulsion, and he saw it in everyone she interacted with, only on different levels. Cristina was gravity. She was the center. She was beautiful, and she was broken, and she was this perfect, complaining, annoying, and strangely sensitive person. She would take his hand as readily as she slapped him. He couldn't blame anyone for loving her, not Meredith, not Callie, and not even Owen Hunt.

Everything after that got fuzzy. Shane knew what happened, because he had not had nearly as much to drink as her, but Cristina was _gravity_. She had come into his bedroom and snaked under his covers and put her lips to his ear, and whispered sweet words.

It was only temporary, he told himself, and then woke in an empty bed.

In the park, the memory was so much clearer. It traded the piles of snow and the Christmas bells for long flat plains and cloud-streaked blue skies and the groan of chains on metal, but it made him remember, and it made him smile.

Here he was with her youngest son, back in Seattle.

Henry reached below him and tore the stuffed animal free, dropping it with a battle cry as he started to slip through the leg hole. Shane slowed the swing, but let him slide, amused when he sat sideways with one leg trapped and half his body through the hole.

"You did this to yourself," he told Henry, "How many times have we had this talk?"

Henry was stubborn like his mother, and his age was no barrier in expressing it. He kicked out feebly with one leg, tugged on the chains, and tried to pull himself back up. Shane watched until it got too pitiful, and then set him right and put the animal back in its place.

He started pushing him again, "You should be happy I took you here. Your mom wanted me to take you to see Adham, but we used up most of his time here. You're welcome."

Henry stroked his hand down the chain, and then grasped the plastic seat, laughing.

Shane smiled reflexively at that sound. He had been the first to get to the hospital when the call went out. He was already in Europe. He had been the first to lay eyes on Henry after he was born. Cristina slept for a while, coming down from the pit of grief he had let her sink into. He had been so angry at the time, so angry at the world and everyone in it, because of what happened to Cristina, but looking at Henry gave him a strange sense of peace. Life goes on. _Gravity_ never fails.

Somewhere in the street, beyond the park, a car honked. Henry cocked his head, startled by the sound. He pulled the stuffed animal out again and threw it toward the noise.

Shane watched him slide down again, letting him get all the way into the hole, before he plucked him out of the swing and headed back for the car. It was a good time to get going, with dusk rolling along. He hated the idea of handing Henry over to anyone, let alone Adham Farrah, but there was almost nothing he wouldn't do if Cristina asked him to.

So he had to suck it up.

Cristina and Owen were off that day, and they had taken the kids out of town to see some kind of summer lights show. Henry had a hard time with crowds, as sickly as he could be, so Cristina had asked Shane to watch him. Owen hated Shane – that much was obvious from the hulking scowl he got every time he saw the man – but medically trained babysitters were hard to come by and Cristina was stubborn as an ox, so he had to suck it up, too.

She had texted him and asked him if he could bring the baby to see his biological father, the snooty new neurosurgeon at Grey-Sloan, and of course he said yes.

He had neglected to bring his suspicions to Cristina, to ask if she remembered that night they shared before she flew off to Syria. He chickened out every time the thought passed him. What would she say, if she thought that he might be Henry's father? Would she accuse him of taking advantage of her? Would she question their friendship? Would she cut him out of her life?

No, the risk was too great, and she had enough on her plate right now.

Henry cried when he put him in the car seat. He was always sick, but he loved the outdoors and being shut into a car always ruined his day. Shane felt the same way.

"Maybe we could go get ice-cream instead, and say we forgot about Adham, huh?" Shane spoke to the boy, and his crying tapered off. He was listening. "How does that sound? What's he gonna do, tell on me? Your mom likes me more than him."

Even as he figured out an escape plan, he drove to the address Cristina had given him, and parked as far from the building as he could manage. It was an upper class apartment complex in the business district of the city, wedged in the middle of everything. He stood by the car, sighing, looking up at the lush balconies hanging silently over Seattle, and let Henry play with his fingers.

"Okay, big boy pants," Shane said to himself, unstrapping Henry and carrying him into the lobby. He hated carrying the kid in his car seat. It was so hard to maneuver.

He strolled the hallways of the fifth floor, letting Henry run his hand along the velvety wallpaper, until he found apartment 506. He tapped on the door, barely making a sound with the tip of his knuckle, and hope that Adham had not heard it.

When the doorknob wiggled, Shane cursed.

Dr. Adham Farrah was a very elegant man. It was the only word Shane could put to him. When he worked, he wore scrubs like every other surgeon, but at home in his apartment he was dressed in a powder blue Polo and designer dress pants. He smiled when he saw the baby, holding his arms out. Shane hesitated, and handed Henry over reluctantly.

"Shane Ross," he said, scraping together the only greeting he could manage. He stepped uninvited into the apartment. It smelled like soap and flowers, and had white furniture, streaked with fading sunlight. It was warm and clean and definitely the most expensive apartment he had ever walked into. He felt like a child walking down an aisle full of glassware.

Adham turned, looking a little miffed that he had come in, "Hello, Mr. Ross, I-"

"It's _Dr_. Ross, actually." Shane ignored his expression, taking a seat on the over-white couch. Cristina had not actually given specific instructions about what to do at this meeting, so he laid down his own. He would be here the whole time, and Henry would never leave his sight.

When he saw Adham holding the boy, he bristled a little.

It was only temporary, he told himself.

Adham saw that he was not moving, and he came over to sit on the chair across from him. He placed Henry on the soft white carpet below them. Shane reached over and moved the glass table away, pointedly, so Henry would not find it and try to break it with his face.

"He has grown, even since I last saw him," Adham remarked, a little awkward. He stared down at Henry, and his voice made the boy stop and listen. He was searching for the source.

Shane bopped him on the head, and then said, "Babies tend to do that."

Adham looked at him sharply, and Shane realized his tone was biting. He tried his best to wipe it away. He diverted his mind, focusing instead on the expensive furniture.

"You have a nice place, here."

"Thank you," Adham answered coolly.

Shane squirmed for something to say, but nothing came to mind. Adham picked the baby back up, holding him delicately by his underarms and setting him in his lap, at a safe distance from his chest. Shane watched him the way he might watch an intern performing his first surgery, waiting for a mistake, deciding whether he should step in and stop it before things got worse.

"It is funny," Adham said, straightening Henry's shirt, "I have held so many children, but the only one that scares me is this one."

Shane had read his work, knew about him from what Cristina had said. He worked with kids, mostly, and breathed life into the pediatric wings of poorly funded hospitals all over the world. He found his words hard to believe. "He's not _that_ fragile."

"Cristina has told me how many times he faced death, and how many times he overcame it." Adham turned the boy around, and now Shane could see his curious face. He was still listening, but now he could place the voices, and it made him more confident. "I wish I could see him more. I wish things were different."

"Maybe one day," Shane offered, while hoping that day never came.

"I am still trying to convince Cristina to tell her husband about this, so that we might work out something proper for him."

Shane felt the biting tone come back suddenly. "What?"

"A custody agreement," Adham clarified.

Shane had lost his mother to a custody agreement, and the phrase itself bothered him, but when it was said about Cristina it had more weight. She treasured Henry, and so did Owen. Cristina had little love for Adham, but she wanted him to know Henry at least a little. She would never agree to let him _keep_ the baby. And then there was Owen – strong, traditional Owen, who was so protective of his children that he barely let Shane, a longtime friend of Cristina, watch them. What would he say to Adham Farrah trying to claim Henry every other weekend?

He put together a meek response, "I think that's a bad idea."

Adham had cold eyes when he wanted to. Green. It was like looking into a frozen lake and seeing layers of grass suspended in ice. "Why do you think that? Henry is my son. I have a right-"

"You getting to see him is a privilege. Cristina is doing you a favor."

"I am his father, I have the right-"

"You have no rights," Shane laughed, and realized it sounded bitter only afterward. "You're just some guy. Legally, Owen is his father. He's on the birth certificate."

Adham shrugged. "We can have it amended."

"Are you insane?"

"It is the right thing to do," Adham persisted, in a weirdly calm voice.

Shane snapped, unable to help himself, "The right thing…? You know what the right thing to do it? Leave her alone. Cristina is tearing herself in half trying to let you get to know Henry, and for what? For you to sit here and say it's not good enough?"

Adham was quiet for several moments. He set Henry back on the carpet and folded his hands, giving Shane a sad smile. It felt condescending – or maybe that was his anger seeing for him.

"You are bad for her."

Shane stood up, too frustrated to stay seated. "You don't even know me."

"I only know what she had told me." He was finally bristling, loosing that cool demeanor. "I think you should leave. I can take him home."

"Yeah, right." Shane picked the boy up before Adham could.

Adham stared at him like he had just pulled the pin on a grenade. "I am his father-"

"You are _not_ his father." Shane went for the door, realizing he sounded like a child, like he was having a tantrum. He had never been so hostile to anyone, except maybe Owen, and that was because his relationship with Cristina had been volatile sometimes. It came full circle, back to the baby in his arms, because he was a part of Cristina.

Adham followed him to the door, but made no move to take Henry or to stop him, further cementing what Shane had said. A father might have tried harder.

Shane went on in the silence, like a raving madman, "What's his favorite food? His favorite story? His favorite texture? How do you get the mask to stay on his face when he gets his breathing treatments? What's his blood type? What's his middle name?"

He left the apartment, storming down the hall.

In his head, he went through the list. _Pudding. Goldilocks. Corduroy. Velcro straps. A-positive. Alexander_. Each step toward the elevator brought another calming repetition. He had known Henry _well_ for only a month, since July, but time did not matter. Effort mattered. With all of his visits, all of his research, and everything Adham had been told about the baby, he failed at the most important questions, the questions that mattered to Shane.

It mattered, he insisted to himself, even as he was driving home. He snuck glances at Henry in his rearview mirror, curious that the baby had stayed quiet while he argued with Adham. Was he so used to conflict, that he could shrug it off already?

"Sorry about that, back there," Shane said, even though the baby could not understand him. He was barely one year old and words bounced off of him with little meaning. "It was just… me and your dad… not your dad, but that guy… we got off on the wrong foot, I guess. I never yell like that. Never. I promise. I mean, you know that, and your mom knows that."

Henry stared ahead, blind eyes devoid of expression, but listened as he always did.

He was still trying to explain when they got back to the Hunt house, when they were on the porch swing with the crickets and the lightning bugs in the yard. But he ran out of excuses, and let himself listen for once, like Henry did.

He got the call that they were headed home, and knew he had to tell Cristina about what he had done. She had to know that Adham expected more from her.

"She might shun me for a while," he told Henry, "Not forever, but for a while. If he tries to get his name on that birth certificate… God. Men are so stupid. He seems like the type to have all that pride, you know, with the way he talks? He thinks he knows so much about me, about you, about Cristina. People who talk like that always know the least. Always."

He went on, fearless, because there was no one here who could repeat what he said.

"I love her." He paused, those words lifting away from him like a boulder off of his chest. "I love her. Not when we met, no, not even when we slept together for the first time. I looked up to her back then. I still do. It was later, way later, when we were in Switzerland… when she stepped on me on the way to the bathroom, and we laid in bed together and talked each other off ledges, and when she fell in that stupid sinkhole…"

His words made him smile, and his spirit was lifted despite the mess he had made that night.

"Your mom used to drive me up the wall. She was mean, and she made me work for the dragon-lady, and no matter how many times I did things right she would always get me on the little mistakes, and…"

He dropped off, losing that train, and finding another one,

"And then your dad came into town and they went off together with this fairytale ending and everything sucked for a while."

He had never felt quite so broken as when Cristina had left him in Switzerland. It felt like he was being abandoned. She was someone he loved, someone he needed, his mentor and his best friend, and she had left him all alone in the cold. He shifted quickly from that, hating reliving it.

"But here I am. I sent in a resume and I got a call back, and now we work together again and we eat lunch in her office and… and I have you."

He stared at the little boy, so small for his age. He had her eyes, wide and almond-shaped, so dark they were almost black in this light. He had her nose, maybe, when it grew out a little more. He had that smile plastered on his face because he liked to hear Shane talk. He talked the most to him, even if he knew he couldn't understand. It was important that he _hear_ , because he could not see.

He set the swing off again, having lapsed and let it still to a stop, and smiled along with Henry as the wind caught them. His love for Cristina burned through him like fire, twisting his judgement, clouding his mind, haunting his dreams and his nightmares, but this – _this_ was serenity. He was right where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to do, no matter if seeing her walk inside with her husband later would twist a knife in his chest. It was worth it, he told himself, to be here.

Hours and hours later, an SUV rolled into the driveway and their happy family climbed out. Cristina was out first, a little disheveled. That thick black hair of hers bundled at her shoulders, recently cut shorter to keep Henry from using it as a weapon, and that impatient, resting frown she always wore was deeper now, almost serene.

She walked right up to the swing, used her thigh to stop it, and plucked her youngest son into her arms. She grinned at him, and even though he could not see her, he grinned back. Henry knew who was holding him. He had a sense for when his mother was near.

She murmured, "Thank you," to Shane, like it was a secret.

He nodded and looked at the ground.

Owen came up the steps after her. He was dense, tall, and mostly unfriendly when Shane was around, but since his kids were there he had a smile fixed on his face. His twins followed, one the spitting image of Cristina, and one his little clone, but both with the fiery personality of their mother. Evelyn came right up to the swing and demanded to be picked up.

Collin trailed behind, as he always did, and smiled at Shane. He waved the four fingers he was not currently sucking on, in a rare show of affection.

It did not go unnoticed by Owen, who disliked him all the more for it. He spoke gruffly to Shane, "Thank you for watching him. Did he have any seizures?"

"You're welcome, and no."

Owen nodded very officially, heading into the house. Noah followed him, Evelyn slipped off the swing and ran toward them, and Collin went back to sit on the front steps and look out at the yard.

Cristina lingered, cradling Henry against her chest.

She sat beside Shane, setting Henry between them, and sighed as she rested against the back of the swing. She looked tired. "How was it?"

He struggled now, because his motivation left him when she was nearby. What he had to say was going to hurt her.

He managed a sad, "I'm sorry."

Cristina suddenly became paler. "Why are you sorry?"

Shane tried to put together a sentence.

She grabbed his shoulder and squeezed, "Shane, _why_ are you sorry?"

He told her what happened, keeping the story as short as he could. She did not seem nearly as upset as he thought she would – but then again she _was_ exhausted.

When he was done, Cristina thought for a long moment, and then said, "Of course Owen is listed on his birth certificate. Why would he even…?"

Shane shrugged.

"Did he really expect his name to be on it?"

He shrugged again.

"What a prick." To his intimate relief, she looked more frustrated than upset, and it was not aimed at him. She released his shoulder and looked out into the yard, and at her blonde son on the steps, and then back at Henry. She spoke mockingly. "Oh, yeah, nurse, could you just put 'random hookup' under the father line, please?"

Shane winced at that, and was suddenly glad she was looking away. "I don't think he likes me."

Cristina looked back at him, amused, "You did that thing I told you not to do, didn't you?"

He smiled, "Sorry."

She laughed, but it faded after a moment. She sat deeper in her seat and ran her hand through her hair, producing a curl as her finger slid to its end. "What am I doing, Shane?"

Shane didn't hesitate this time. "The best that you can."

Cristina seemed taken off-guard by that. She smiled at him, an old, affectionate smile, and then punched him in the arm. "I should get inside, before Owen accuses me of sleeping with you."

Shane snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Well, he thought I was sleeping with Alex, so best not tempt his imagination."

Shane thought it was silly for Owen to suspect that of her after all they had been through, but he held his tongue. He stood up with her. She wrapped him in a very brief, tight hug, and then picked up her son, and took Collin by the hand, and went inside.

He walked as slowly as he could to his car, wondering about the life going on inside that house, the life he could never have with her – the only life he wanted. Owen would hold her that night, and they would talk, and Cristina would look at him with those wide, loving eyes, showing a side of herself she had once shown to Shane.

It hurt, but it hurt every time he left her, and every time he managed to survive it.

It was only temporary, he told himself.

And she was _gravity_.


	28. Backlash

**A/N: I hope you guys liked my Shane chapter! I've been reading A Game of Thrones recently and that chapter was based, in part, on the relationship between Ser Jorah and Daenerys. I hope you like this chapter as well. Enjoy!**

 **XxX**

 **Chapter 28.**

 **Backlash.**

 **August 4, 2019.**

Frustration was not a new flavor for her. She had her irritating boss-who-should-be-her-subordinate to deal with, and her baby-daddy-wannabe sending her an endless barrage of texts, and a new bunch of interns that she wanted to use corporal punishment on, and of course she had the Cortez lawsuit to worry about.

Meredith scowled at her salad when Cristina told her. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Have you met my interns? I work with them, and _that_ is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"I know."

"A product they made and sold exploded during normal use. Why does it matter how old she is?"

Cristina shrugged.

"What are they gonna do about it?"

Cristina rolled an olive out of her sandwich, grimacing at it, "Their lawyer thinks he might be able to go through with it and win, but they could lose. He said the safety regulations were more like guidelines and her age shouldn't matter, but the company has an army of lawyers…"

"Lawyers suck," Meredith said, dropping her fork and letting it splat into her ranch dressing.

"If they lose, that's game over for all of them. The costs of the surgery alone will bankrupt them, and the hospital stay will cost even more. If she ever gets donor lungs… if she gets any more skin grafts… pain medicine, physical therapy."

Meredith slid her salad sideways into the trash. "Why did I buy this? I hate salad. Hate it."

"I'm gonna go yell at some interns, wanna come?"

Meredith gave her a dry look. "I want cake."

"We can do cake. Come on. Cafeteria. Cake."

It was crowded in the cafeteria, as always, but they scared some residents from a corner booth and Meredith wolfed down a slice of double chocolate cake. Cristina watched other doctors come and go, smiling at some she knew, and scowling at everyone else. Since taking on a second job, she had spent a little less time at the hospital and she felt more free to openly dislike people.

"Want some cake?" Meredith asked when her stomach gurgled.

"No." Cristina looked at the cake, but had no appetite for it. "I don't know what I want."

"Hungry for justice?"

Cristina snorted. "No. But I put a lot of work into this kid, and what kind of life will she have if they lose that case? If her parents lose the house, the state will take Juliet away. Her parents will live in crushing poverty and Juliet will spend her life without them."

"You are so glum today." Meredith poked her arm with her fork.

"I blame Owen. He was glum this morning."

"I am satisfied with blaming Owen."

Cristina spotted her half-brother Wyatt coming through the line. He was tall and gangly, like a broomstick with arms, and she recognized his black hair before she even saw his face. He looked like her stepfather, with his Korean side only showing in his almond-shaped eyes. Since starting at the hospital he had kept to himself, but his proficiency with a scalpel was well known. He reminded Cristina of Erica Hahn in his demeanor. He wore a blank expression, avoided socializing, and failed at it when he tried.

She was thinking of Dean when she called him over. "Hey, Wyatt, come here. Sit with us."

He did as she said, giving her an odd look. Cristina scooted over and he sat beside her on the bench, giving an awkward sort of smile to Meredith. Her friend looked at her questioningly, and then shrugged, digging into her cake again.

"How is life?" Cristina asked Wyatt.

He shrugged, "Good, I guess."

"How is your residency?"

"In good standing."

"Good."

He had chosen a different path than her, going into plastics under Jackson.

Meredith scrutinized his face, "So, do you plan to stay here in Seattle after residency?"

"No. I want to travel."

He lapsed into silence, and Cristina grew bored of him. She shooed him. "Okay, go away. Enough bonding. I can only take so much."

Wyatt scampered off without a word.

Meredith laughed, "Wow."

"Why did you-?"

"My stupid sponsor wanted me to get to know him, for some stupid reason."

"He seems nice."

Cristina snorted again.

"He does. How sure are you that you're related?"

"One hundred percent."

"He's cute."

" _What_?"

"Wyatt is cute."

"Are you high?"

"I think your judgement is clouded. Wyatt is cute, and he reminds me of you."

Cristina thought about slapping her, but decided against it. "How dare you."

Meredith seemed to be enjoying herself. "Do you remember who you were when we first met? Stiff, uninterested, focused on your work?"

"Yeah, but I had a _personality_."

"You intimidate him. He was my intern and he was a good, smart kid."

"Who are you and what have you done with Meredith?"

She left her friend to her cake, not at all amused that she had compared Cristina to Wyatt. He was nothing like her. She refused to even consider it. Dean was wrong to suggest she get to know him. What was family, anyway? The only thing that connected them was a womb, and that womb was inside a crazy lady. Cristina had moved away to put a few states between her and her mother, not to meet the younger, taller, male version at her work.

She was almost at the nurse's station when Adham turned a corner and saw her. He stopped her before she could pretend she was busy.

"You and I need to have a conversation."

Cristina agreed. She led him into the nearest on-call room, scattering the interns that were trying to sleep there, and locked the door behind them. Adham looked angry, and she didn't want him blabbering in the halls about their affair and the son they shared.

He started in as soon as the lock clicked, "Is your husband on Henry's birth certificate?"

She didn't even hesitate, "Owen is his father."

"I am his father. I should be-"

"No."

He fumed at being cut off. "I am sick of your games, Cristina. I have been patient with you, but I want to know my son. I want to spend time with him, openly, to have others know he is mine."

"No," Cristina snapped it this time.

Adham stiffened, and for a brief, crazy moment, Cristina thought he might go so far as to hit her. But he just got this resolved look on his face and said, "Fine."

Cristina felt a tremor of fear, and waited for the hammer to fall.

"I have a lawyer, and I'm going to sue for my parental rights."

"Owen is-"

"I am requesting a DNA test to confirm paternity," Adham growled, cutting her off. His voice boomed for a moment, making her take a step away. "You have tried so hard to cut me out of his life, to make me your shadow, begging to see him. You will have to be honest now, and you will be better off for it. We all will. This is for _your_ good as much as mine, Cristina."

He left, and Cristina sank onto the nearest bed, gasping to suppress a sob. She battled against the emotions his little tirade produced, telling herself she was stronger than that, stronger than him. But tears came anyway, angry, frustrated tears, and it took her a while to make them stop.

If he went through with this, Owen would find out. He had to. There was no hiding something like that, and if she even tried, it would blow up in her face. When the test came back, he could take it to court and a judge might grant him visitation every other weekend. The judge might take her son from her, because of her history. Henry might be hers once or twice a month, or she might never get to see him again.

How had it come to this?


	29. Resolved

**Chapter 29.**

 **Resolved.**

 **August 5, 2019.**

It was getting dark again and Cristina had a long day of work behind her. Juliet lost a pair of lungs to another dying child and her parents were beside themselves with frustration. Her interns had managed to break the million dollar simulation dummy, tried to hide it, and then blamed each other for its untimely demise. She got a papercut between her middle and index fingers on one of her trial documents at the institute, and the air conditioning in her office cut out. She had half a dozen mouths yapping in her ears. She worried about what Callie might say about what she saw in the parking lot, what Meredith might whisper to Derek in the dark of night, who Adham might decide to tell, now that he was determined to ruin her life.

Her head ached and she wanted nothing more than to go home, lock her spawn out of the room, and wrap herself in a burrito of blankets – but when she got in the car she didn't turn it on. She sat with her hands on the wheel and waited.

Thirty minutes later her passenger's door opened and Callie slid into her car. Cristina groaned at the sight of her, leaning forward to rest her face on the hard plastic steering wheel.

Callie used a soft, curious tone.

"Why are you out here? I thought you went to work across the street."

When she got no answer, she pulled a cereal bar out of her pocket and started munching on it. Her words reflected her personality well. Playful, a little grim, compassionate, and sassy.

"I guess this is your safe space. How is all the secret keeping going for you?"

Cristina shrugged, not looking up.

"It was, what, two years ago, when you guys left for Germany? Noah and Evelyn were teeny tiny and we were working on adopting Manny."

Silence.

"I know you hear me, and I know you remember it. You were scared. Something was already wrong, way back then, and we should have done more to help you."

Cristina snorted at that, "Not this talk again."

"Looking out for you is always gonna be my job." Callie poked her in the ribs, adding, "Bad bitches gotta stick together, Yang."

"If you want to lecture me about what Owen deserves to know, save it."

"You already know how I feel about this whole Henry thing, and honestly, Owen already knows that he's not Henry's biological father. If you told him it was Adham Farrah, he might be a little weird about it, but it's not that big of a bombshell." Callie paused, took a bite of her snack, and then went on while she chewed, "But I didn't come here to lecture you. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw you bump into Adham yesterday."

"Is there anything you _don't_ see?" Cristina asked, bitter.

Callie smiled sadly, "What did you guys talk about?"

"He was mad because his name isn't listed on Henry's birth certificate."

"What a tool."

"Right? He wants… he wants partial custody of Henry. He's going to sue for his parental rights."

Callie was silent for several minutes, letting those words hang in the air. And what words they were. Cristina hated the sound of it, because something deep down told her she would never win that legal battle.

Finally, her friend said, "No way the court would hand him over."

"Have you forgotten who I am? Workaholic, drug addict, absent for a good chunk of my kids' lives. Not exactly mom of the year."

"Still, you're his _mom_."

"Adham is bringing it to court, so… you can keep your lecture, because Owen will find out."

"He shouldn't find out that way."

"I can't tell him."

"Why not?"

Cristina shrugged again, with no explanation and no inclination to dig for one. "Get out of my car. I need to go home."

"Okay. Just think about telling him, okay?"

Callie took another slow, purposeful bite of her cereal bar, and slipped out of the car.

Cristina did a loop around the parking lot and occupied another spot in the back.

Dean answered his phone on the fourth ring.

Cristina hesitated, a pile of words on the tip of her tongue, and then hung up instead. She had this crazy notion in her head that Callie was right. But the idea of confessing all the things she had hidden to Owen had never even crossed her mind. It was foreign, it was terrifying.

It was liberating.

No more secrets, no more dealing with Adham and Henry alone. Owen might divorce her, and kick her out of the house, and take the twins away, but this _burden_ would be gone.

Cristina headed home, her head buzzing with ways to approach this monstrous lie of hers. She could say it outright, out of nowhere. She could try to ease into the conversation. She could lie and say she had just found out herself that Adham was the father – no, no more lies.

Whatever happened, it would be the truth this time.


	30. This is How a Heart Breaks

**Chapter 30.**

 **This is How a Heart Breaks.**

 **August 5, 2019.**

"I lied."

Cristina thought she would have to go home and commit his face to memory, in case the things she said took him away from her forever, but it wasn't necessary. She knew his face. She knew his strong brow, his pale eyebrows, that growing crinkle on the outsides of his eyes. She knew his laugh lines and she knew the creases that only came out when he was brooding. She knew him gaunt and disturbed, and furious and heartbroken, and she knew his devastation and his joy. She had shared a whole life with him, shared children, shared an addiction, separations, and divorce.

When she looked at him now she knew she would never be able to forget his face, for better or worse – she would never be able to forget the little shadow that came over his eyes when she said those two simple words.

Owen could tell something was wrong. Before everything had happened he would have half-laughed and half-grimaced, waiting for her to confess some petty wrong she'd done. But it was different now. He was like the others in that department, always waiting for her to tumble off the wagon, always assuming the worst. Just like that all the humor left his face and his expression stiffened, like he was bracing himself. His smile slipped into a hard line.

She realized what he was thinking, and quickly said, "I'm not drinking. I lied about… something else. Something bad. Something I… I'm not sure that I can say out loud."

He looked relieved, and apprehensive, and put his elbows up on the table and slid his hands to hers. He folded them up like he always did, running his thumb along the inside of her wrist.

Cristina wished he hadn't done that, but she couldn't bring herself to move her hands away. She looked at the table to avoid his eyes – those pretty blue eyes she had fallen in love with years and years and years ago – and tried to find the words.

"I know who Henry's biological father is," Cristina blurted. Suddenly the words were all there, and she couldn't stop them from coming out. "It's Adham… Dr. Farrah. We met in Port Said, in Egypt, and we slept together."

 _This is it_ , Cristina thought, as Owen slowly slid his hands away from hers. He sat rigid in his chair, still staring at her, his brow creasing as he took in what she had said. _This is when I lose him_.

She kept on, almost manically, like she was building a ladder out of the hole she had dug. But she was only making it deeper, adding to the betrayal. "When he came to Seattle he begged me to see Henry. I took Henry to see him sometimes." She waited a heartbeat, took a breath, thrown by his silence and desperate to make him see her side of this. "He was never anything to me. I was messed up when I met him and I never… I barely even remember-"

Owen stood up so quickly his chair flew back into the wall. It put a hole in the drywall and then clattered to the floor. Cristina flinched. Her husband stalked across the kitchen, toward the back door, and then came straight back to the fridge, his hands scratching furiously at his short hair.

"I don't get it," he said, softly at first. His voice boomed suddenly and the whole house shook, "Why do you keep doing this? When are you going to start trusting me again? Why is your first instinct to _lie_ to me?"

His questions hung in the air, and she didn't dare try to answer.

He turned, made a circle, and came back, slapping his hands down on the table in front of her and making it shudder under his weight. He thrust his face into hers, inches away, and narrowed his eyes. "Is there anything else?"

Cristina hadn't been afraid of him in a long time. It came back in a startling flash and she recalled what it felt like when his hands were around her throat. She stammered, "What do you mean?"

He snapped, "Is there anything else I need to _know_?"

Cristina had more to tell him – about Adham wanting custody – but she kept it to herself. Part of her knew that Owen would never go further than this, further than shouting and puffing out his chest, but part of her thought he might. She just shook her head, staying silent. Owen backed off and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, seething. He stood that way for several minutes, just glaring at her, and then turned to lean over the sink and look out the back window. Cristina caught a pair of eyes peeking around the kitchen door, but her sensitive son kept his distance. She took slow, deep breaths to slow her heart down, to stop her hands from shaking.

When he finally came back from the sink, his rage was gone and the venom had left his eyes. He picked his chair up and sat across from her again, looking regretfully at the hole in the wall before he stared at the space between them. He folded his hands, twiddling his thumbs.

She spoke first, "Adham is going to sue for custody of Henry. He wants a DNA test."

Owen looked up, eyes widening, "What?"

"Last time he saw Henry, he got pissed that you were on the birth certificate instead of him. He wanted to spend more time with Henry and announce to everyone that he was his father. I said no, and he… didn't take it well."

"He wants custody?" Owen said, apparently missing everything she had just said and focusing instead on her recent confession.

"Partial, at least. I'm not sure how far he'll take this."

"That's not gonna happen," Owen growled, his voice taking on an edge he had never even used on her. "Henry is my son, and I'm not gonna let anyone take him away out of _spite_."

Cristina stayed quiet, uncertain of his mood. His anger seemed to be directed at Adham Farrah now, but there was no way he would forget what she had done so easily.

"We're gonna fight this," Owen said.

He stood up and came over to her side of the table. He kissed her on the forehead, roughly, distractedly, and left the room. The front door opened a closed. A car engine started outside and tires crunched down the driveway.

Cristina finally let herself relax, slumping onto the table. Her head was spinning. She was shaken from his behavior, and afraid Adham was going to take her precious son, and unsure of what to do with herself or where her husband had gone. She felt like she would cry, but the tears never came. She sat there for a while with emotions bubbling through her, with no outlet.

Eventually she went to bed, and Collin crawled in with her. He was pale and small all of the sudden, so Cristina wrapped him in her arms. Collin was sensitive and loud noises and shouting terrified him. Sometimes she thought he could still remember what it had been like to live with Phyllis. He trembled in her arms, but it slowly faded, like hers had in the kitchen.

Hours passed and she couldn't sleep. She got up and down, changing and feeding Henry, checking on the twins, carrying Collin around in the kitchen and trying to figure out if she was hungry or just bored. She inspected the hole in the drywall, sorted the newspapers, and swept the whole house. At midnight she put Collin in his own bed and went back to hers, stretching out with one arm under her pillow, facing the empty side of the bed and wondering where Owen had gone. Did she really want him to come back tonight? Was he going to start yelling again? She deserved it, she knew, but she didn't want Collin to hear anymore.

Owen came home around three, slipping quietly into the bedroom, and then into their bathroom to take a shower. Cristina watched the door and tried to put some words together, to find a way to apologize for what she'd done.

He came out and laid down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Cristina could only see the outline of his face in the dark.

He spoke before she could deploy her apology. "Why didn't you tell me it was Dr. Farrah?"

Cristina had thought about that, and the answer was less than satisfying. "He started working at the hospital, and you kept insisting he could help Collin…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I didn't want…" She stopped, realizing the real, grim nature of her lies. "Adham reminded me so much of how bad things were. I wanted to be better, to get away from that. I wanted to keep all that separate."

"You mean you wanted to keep it separate from _me_?"

She was suddenly glad she couldn't see his face. She turned away anyway, toward the dark corner of the room, and finally found those tears she had felt earlier, "You said you were proud of me, that I was the strongest person you knew. You were wrong."

He was quiet for a long time. Cristina almost thought he wouldn't say anything, and then, "If you thought you could get away with it, would you have ever told me?"

Cristina was honest, "No."

Silence.

"Is that the last one?"

Cristina looked over, uncertain, "What?"

"Is that the last lie?"

"Yes." Cristina scraped her brain for anything else she had lied about, and came up empty-handed. If there was another, it escaped her. "I'm sorry. For everything."

Owen sighed, running his hand over his face. "You make it so hard…"

… _to love you_. He left out the most important part, but Cristina still heard it. It still stung. She cleared her throat, to make her voice stronger, and said, "What now?"

It was a loaded question, but Owen gave a quick, sharp answer, "I don't know." He groaned, sitting up in bed. "I don't know," he said again, softer this time.

Cristina wanted to sit up and wrap her arms around him, but something stopped her. She wiped her tears away with the sheets and waited, letting the quiet creep up around them. This was what she wanted, to tell Owen everything she had done. So why did she feel so sick inside?

"I'm sorry," she repeated, with nothing else to say. She couldn't stand the silence.

He finally laid down, making the bed shake. He tipped his head toward her, but it was too dark to see his face. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Cristina stayed still, when all she wanted to do was scoot over and rest her head on his shoulder. His hostility wasn't completely gone. She could feel it in the air like a poison.

Owen turned his back to her, saying nothing else.

She watched his shoulder shift up and down from his breathing, hoping in vain that he would turn back and tell her he forgave her. She wished he would say something comforting, like he did in the kitchen before he went off into the night. She wished he would say _anything_ , to quiet her mind.

She wished she could wake up, and realize this was all a bad dream.


	31. Bluntly

**Chapter 31.**

 **Bluntly.**

 **August 6, 2019.**

Cristina ran the tip of a baby carrot through her mashed potatoes, grimacing. She knew she should be ravenous but the thought of taking even one little bite made her nauseas. She was tired. Henry had woken them screaming around three that morning, covered in vomit and feverish. Cristina sat with him in the tub to cool him down, but the change in temperature triggered a seizure. It had been months since he needed his medicine and the moment it hit him he slipped into a deep sleep. Cristina laid in bed with him on her chest, a pulse ox secured on his foot, and she and Owen waited in scared silence to see if he would improve. He did, slowly, but she never went back to sleep. She was afraid his heart was going to give out and she would wake to find him cold and lifeless.

Her terrible night was met with a terrible morning. Henry was in the pediatric wing for monitoring for the day, just as a precaution, and her interns were being particularly stupid just to irritate her. Maggie Pierce had bumped her bypass in favor of another grandpa with too much fat in his veins. Collin sensed the distress of his parents and acted like an ass all the way to daycare and after the baby's screaming had woken them the night before, the twins decided to climb out of their cribs, find the syrup in the kitchen cabinets, and squirt it all over their bed and themselves. Worst of all, Meredith was off today, and Alex was aloof, and her husband was working in the ER.

If anything else went wrong she might strangle someone.

He must have heard her sulking, because her least favorite person for the day came over to sit across from her. Adham looked tired, too, but it stemmed from the eighteen-hour surgery he had been performing all day. He went in sometime late last night or early this morning, and this was his first breath of fresh air. Everyone was talking about how innovative it was.

But when she looked at him she only saw the man who wanted to take her son away, so she had no praise for him. Only hostility.

"What do you want?" she groaned.

Adham smiled a little, sadly, and slid a piece of paper across the table to her. She knew what it was without looking at it. A court summons. He had promised as much. "We are to sit before a judge in her private chambers, where she will decide about the blood test."

"Drop this," Cristina said, though she had little hope he would listen.

He bit his lip, sitting back and clearing his throat. He had brought over a tray, but all it had on it was an apple. He had not come here to eat. He wanted to talk. "You know I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"It is the only way that I will be able to know my son."

Cristina nodded along with those words. "You're right."

Adham stiffened a little at that, and toyed with his apple. "You know there are two sides to this issue. If you would let me-"

"Henry is mine," Cristina stated plainly, bluntly. "You were a mistake from my past."

He stood up suddenly, grunting in frustration.

Before he could storm off like a wounded teenager, she added, "Henry is over in peds, room 213. If you want to visit him you should do it now."

Fear flashed into his eyes, "What happened?"

"Henry is a sick little boy," Cristina said simply, going back to her uneaten meal. "If you're so damn determined to be in his life you should get used to it."

When he was gone, Cristina could not figure out why she'd told him where to find her son. His presence would offer no comfort to Henry and it would antagonize Owen. Did she want Owen to knock his lights out? Her tired mind struggled with it. Maybe she was just feeling more empathetic today, because of the hell she had gone through with that baby the night before.

Work passed her by that way, with one questionable decision after another. She taught Lawson the intricacies of a heart and lung examination – Yang style – on young Juliet Cortez, and yelled at Melody and Nicholas for getting lost in the basement, and fielded phone calls about her trials, about her sickly son, and about her worrisome twins in the daycare. When it was finally time to leave it took her thirty minutes to realize her shift was over.

She went to the pediatric wing and slowed before she came upon his room. She had spent the day so busy that she had barely been by to see her son, barely let herself be afraid for him. Since the day he was born he was always sick, always coughing, teetering on the edge of malnourished, failing every developmental milestone that came up. So why was she so afraid now?

Henry was curled on his side, his thumb in his mouth. He looked peaceful. He was wearing footsie pajamas with cartoon characters on them, he had a pacifier clipped to the front, and wires everywhere. He was being monitored for everything, from heart rhythm to blood sugar, and the monitors by his side showed that everything was in order at the moment. Cristina lingered long to look at him, even when Owen got up and tried to lead her from the room by her hand. She looked at that pretty, dusky brown skin, that serious wrinkle in his brow, that mess of curly black hair, and felt so afraid of losing him that it choked her up.

Eventually she let Owen guide her out. He was working a double tonight, on the same scant sleep as her. His voice was husky. "Dr. Morgan couldn't find anything, but I wanted him to stay for a few more hours so we can monitor him after his medicine wears off. Alex came by to see him a few times. He said he looked for you."

Cristina forgot about their fight from the night before, forgot about Adham, and wrapped her arms around her husband. He hugged her back, and they stood there embracing in the quiet hallway.

"How long has he been asleep?" Cristina asked into his shoulder.

Owen had his hands flat on her back, but when she spoke he moved one up, to her neck, under her hair. "Less than an hour. I forgot to pack his toys this morning."

Henry had special toys designed to keep his interest despite his lack of vision. It helped him stay awake and alert during the day, to maintain a regular schedule. Most of them were designed for very small infants, but Henry still loved them.

"I can bring them." Cristina drew away at last, leaning in the doorframe and looking into the room. "I thought I was used to this…"

"He was fine for a while," Owen pointed out. "No seizures, nothing. We got used to _that_."

Cristina handed over the summons Adham had given her, "He wants to go through with it. This calls use before a judge. She gets to decide whether or not the blood test is warranted."

Owen read the document, but said nothing of it. He just heaved a big sigh and drew her into another, tighter hug, and kissed her forehead as he released her. "Henry is gonna be fine. Are you going to take the kids back with you?"

"Yeah. I might ask Shane to bring you the toys."

He disliked Shane, but Owen nodded at her words. "Good. Go home and get some rest. I'll keep an eye on him. You hold down the fort."

"I think you got the better end of this deal. Henry is the good one."

"But you get to sleep."

"Sleep? With the tiny little spawn of Stan in the house?" Cristina snorted.

Owen had to go start his second shift, so Cristina went into the room to be with her son for a little while. She lifted Henry gingerly into her arms and lay in his bed, holding him against her chest. He stirred, his little hands grasping at her, and a sleepy smile came upon his lips. Cristina kissed his forehead and murmured, "Good morning sleepyhead."

He woke gradually, and pressed closer to her as he did, eventually nuzzling his head against her neck. He was the size of a six-month-old, even though he had been born a year ago. He was premature and underweight. His optic nerve had been starved to death and his little organs were stitched together inside. He had scars all over his belly and back from the surgeries he had suffered. His whole life was dotted with hospital visits and seizures. But he was her son. He was a fighter. No matter what kind of infection, what angry virus came for him, he fought it off.

She told herself he was going to be fine as she slipped him back into his bed. She put his rails up and told the nurses that she was leaving, so one could keep a close eye on the little monster. She was sullen when she made it to the daycare to round up the rest of her horde.

Shane agreed to take the toys to Owen over the phone, so the ride home was peaceful. She kept thinking about her bed and how nice it would be to sink into it.

He was there when she drove up, and Collin burst out of the car to drag him inside and show him his toys again. He always did that. Cristina gathered up a bag for Henry, putting all of his favorite things inside and another set of pajamas, in case he ended up spending the night.

Shane hovered in her doorway while she packed the bag. "You look horrible." He was frowning. "What happened?"

"Henry is in the hospital."

"Not that. Something else is bugging you."

Cristina was on the fence between irritation and affection. Some people could see right through her – Owen, Meredith, Alex, Callie, and Shane. She hated it most of the time, but now it was soothing to know she didn't have to live completely inside her head.

"Adham gave me a summons today, to appear before a judge."

"For custody?"

"For a blood test, and then for custody," Cristina handed him the bag, and he followed her back out into the living room. "I told him to back off today. No luck."

Shane scowled his way to the front door. "I can take care of him for you."

"I can commit my own murders, thank you very much." Cristina opened the door, shooing him. "Just try to get him to wake up and play with that. Can you sit with him for a while? Owen will be working most of the night and Alex just got off."

"Of course. Do you need anything?"

"Sleep. At least twelve hours of it." Cristina gave him a tired half hug. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

Her house was uncharacteristically quiet that night. Her kids played in the living room, jumping from the couch to the chair like the floor was on fire and giggling, and she threw together a quick meal from leftovers. Owen was the one who could cook. She could barely make an acceptable meal on her best days. When everyone was fed and bathed, she sat in the kitchen alone and stared at the hole Owen had put in the wall the night before.

His parentage mattered little to her husband, and less to her, now that he was sick again. She had to wonder if he had heard them shouting the night before, and if this was some sort of visceral reaction to his distress. Could they have caused this?

Before that thought could sink in too much, Collin came into the kitchen. Her oldest son, with a head of curly blonde hair and blue eyes that could charm anyone, had been having a bad day. He sensed their fear, their exhaustion, and reacted badly to it. His report from daycare had placed him in the time out chair or sobbing most of the day. Now he was calm, peering at her the same as he always did with this intense curiosity and interest. But he was mute, for the most part. He only spoke when he really wanted to.

He glanced at the hole in the wall and said, "Bad wall?"

Cristina laughed, startling the quiet air of their home. "No, not a bad wall. It was an accident." She drew him up into her lap, stroking his unruly hair down and watching it spring back to life under her palm. "Sorry you had a tough day, buddy. Tomorrow will be better."

She held him tightly, thinking about his sick little brother, and about Shane, and about how much she wanted to talk to Meredith. She also thought about Owen. She wished he could come home instead of working a double tonight. She wanted him here.

His call came at eight, after she had put the twins to bed. She and Collin were sitting in the living room together watching cartoons.

"Hi, sweetie," Owen said, "Henry just got cleared to go home."

Cristina was so tired it took her several seconds to decode his words. Finally, she responded with a dim, "Okay. Okay."

Her husband laughed. "Shane volunteered to take him home, and I said he should."

"Okay."

"I just don't want you driving on no sleep."

"I perform surgery with less sleep than this," Cristina objected. But the idea of getting in her car and driving to the hospital made her sick. "But yeah, let Shane bring him."

"Okay. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

Cristina waited up for Shane, unlocking the door when his tires crunched in her driveway. She stood braced on the doorframe to watch him take her son tenderly from the backseat and cradle him against his chest. He said something softly that she couldn't make out.

Henry was just waking up again when Shane put him in her arms. His blind eyes lolled open and he reached out both hands to touch her face. He smiled when she kissed his fingers.

"Can you put Collin to bed?" Cristina asked of Shane.

She didn't wait to see what his answer was. She hugged Henry to her chest and went to her bedroom, lying down with him. He snuggled into his spot under her arm.

"Welcome home, little man," she murmured, pulling the covers up over them both.

She dozed, vaguely aware of Shane saying goodnight and kissing her on the forehead. She heard doors opening and closing, felt her son's steady heartbeat against her skin, and dreamt of scalpels and eighteen-hour-long surgeries.


	32. Drifting

**Chapter 32.**

 **Drifting.**

 **August 10, 2019.**

"I could melt him in acid. Nothing left but goo. Big old barrel of goo."

Meredith turned another page in her magazine, nodding along to her ramblings. "What are you going to do with a big barrel of people goo?"

"Let it harden. Leave it on the doorstep as a warning. But what if one day Henry finds out that I melted his biological father in acid? I think the other kids would pick on him if he had a big barrel of goo on his front porch his whole life, right?"

"Could happen."

"I could tranquilize him, and ship him to Antarctica."

"Dad-sicle."

"Right. Some future civilization might find him and thaw him out."

"Cristina." Meredith closed her magazine and gave her a drawn-eyebrow look, the kind that said she had been working all day and was done with the silliness, "You're not gonna kill him. Not really. So what's your plan?"

"Goo?"

"If he tries to get custody, you hurling threats at him across the courtroom could really dampen your chances." Meredith pointed into the stroller, where the blind baby was sleeping soundly despite all the noise around him. He had learned to tune it out lately. "What are you going to do? Do you have a lawyer? Do you have a case worked out?"

"No." Cristina leaned over her knees, running her fingers through her hair and making it spread out before her face. "We've been so busy taking care of him. You know, if Dr. Jackass had done his job and told the judge Henry was medically unfit for a blood draw, we wouldn't be here."

"Is he medically unfit?"

"No, but he was in the hospital three days ago. That has to count for something."

Meredith shifted, doing a quick scan of the little waiting room. Others had taken an interest in their conversation and Cristina had been ignoring them, but her friend glared at everyone and made them avert their eyes.

"The judge made her decision," Meredith said, putting her magazine aside.

"A stupid decision."

Cristina fumed. She hated that she had to be here, hated that she had to drag Henry out of the house to sit in this stupid waiting room, to get his blood drawn for a stupid paternity test. Even though she knew what the results would be, it still made her anxious. It was one thing to hear that Adham was his father, but to see it proved by science, the very thing she loved the most, would be devastating. Owen would probably stop talking to her again.

Her name was called, and she gathered the boy out of his stroller and headed for the door. She gave Meredith one last, long look before she stepped inside. Henry started waking up on her shoulder, and she held him stiffly above the table.

The technician came in, laid a little tray out on the table – with a butterfly needle in it – and got to work washing his hands. Cristina stayed where she was the whole time, analyzing him from behind. In the hospital she always knew who was handling her son, but this was a third-party lab designated by the judge and she had never been here before.

When he turned around, the technician looked at her and the baby and frowned, "Um…"

"What?" Cristina demanded.

"I was told I was drawing from a one-year-old."

Henry was a small kid, no bigger than a normal six-month-old and not walking yet. She was used to people assuming he was younger than he really was. "He was born at 30 weeks."

"I should… ask my supervisor about this."

Cristina sighed as he left the room. She saw a flash of Meredith in the waiting room as he skittered away. Henry was fully awake now, alerted by the sound of a strange man, and he put his little fingers on her face. He liked to touch her lips, to see what her expression was, and to mimic it in a strange fashion on his own face.

She talked to the supervisor, and let them call the judge up, and requested to take her son to Grey-Sloan to get his blood drawn by a pediatric specialist, but she was refused.

She had to hold Henry down while they tried to get a vein. Even with the butterfly needle, designed for the tiny veins of babies, they failed their first two sticks, and then started swiveling the needle around beneath his skin. Cristina could see it wiggling and Henry was screaming bloody murder. If they tried another stick she might just turn it around and jab it in their eyeballs.

"Okay, enough." Cristina waited until they withdrew, and then took Henry back into her arms, a fire burning inside, "Are you two the best this office has to offer?"

The supervisor was older, fatter, and more nervous than the first technician, and he nodded sheepishly to her question. "I have the most experience. Your son just-"

"His veins are fine," Cristina snapped. "Hold him and I'll do it."

"We can't-"

"You're not coming _near_ him with another needle. I can do it."

Cristina handed him over, and took a sterile needle from the tray. She prepped his thigh, waited a moment for the alcohol to dry, and then slid the needle under his skin. A flash of blood erupted as she connected the specimen vial, and in a moment it was full.

She came out with her traumatized son still screaming, with a pink band-aid on his thigh.

Cristina muttered all the way to the elevator. "This office is full of idiots. When I go to work tomorrow, I'm gonna find the biggest needle I can get my hands on and jab it in Adham's thigh, let him feel what Henry just felt."

Meredith pushed the empty strolled onto the elevator, "Alex called looking for you."

"I swear to God if one of my patient's is crashing…"

She called him in the parking lot, while Meredith got the car started and the air running. When her friend picked up, she said, " _What_?"

"Okay, first of all, whoa. Where did the attitude come from?"

"Henry had his blood draw today."

" _Oh_. How did it go?"

"Henry is crying and I'm one step closer to getting divorced a second time. Everyone who works at this lab sucks. What did you want?"

"Juliet is drifting."

Cristina stiffened. Drifting was a term she used sometimes to talk about coma patients. When they were on the verge of waking up, or dying, they started drifting in and out of consciousness. It was more profound in children, with the child sometimes waking up completely for a few hours, and then slipping back into a coma for weeks at a time.

"Has she said anything?"

"No. She moves her hands once or twice every ten minutes and sometimes her eyes flutter open. Still no response to painful stimuli. Her vitals are stable."

Meredith was waiting, and as much as she wanted to demand all the details from Alex, she had to let him go. "Okay, okay. Stay with her. If she becomes aware, call me. I don't care what time it is. I come in at seven tomorrow morning."

"Gotcha. Your intern is still here by the way."

"Lawson? Tell him to log all of her movements."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, go buy me a muffin."

"Eat me."

Cristina hung up, waiting a moment before she went to join Meredith. She let the news wash over her, a comforting wave to combat a bad day. She had been waiting for that little girl to wake up for a while. Her parents would be thrilled.

"Your coma kid?" Meredith asked on the way home.

"Oh, yeah. Not a coma kid for long."

Derek was left to watch the kids, and it showed. The Shepherd house was going wild. Cristina walked in on Evelyn chasing Bailey with a giant pair of toy scissors. Noah was screeching and throwing wooden blocks at the wall, while Lexie and Ellis kept trying to pick them up and stack them in a tower. Zola was suspiciously missing. Collin was sitting on the couch beside Derek, turning a little plastic dinosaur over and over in his hands.

"Well, the house isn't on fire," Meredith said, draping herself over the couch. She leaned over to kiss Derek on the cheek, "Good job, honey."

"I try," Derek responded in a purr.

Cristina flopped down on the couch, snatching the toy from Collin. He looked up to take it back, outraged, but when he saw her his angry frown faded away. He smiled at her. The expression cleared away the rest of her clouds. She pulled him into her lap, gave him the toy back, and pressed as many kisses as he would allow to the side of his head. Meredith set Henry on the floor and he sat still, listening to the other kids.

"He is something else, that kid," Derek commented, motioning to Collin. He scratched the beard he had growing in, and shook his head. "I want to talk to one of the surgeons I went to college with, if you don't mind. I think he could give us some insights on Collin."

Cristina shrugged. "Go for it."

He didn't mention Adham, and she was grateful. Adham had been working with her son before this whole thing with Henry started and she regretted losing that help. She owed it to Collin to find someone else to help him.

"We could watch the twins tonight, if you want," Meredith offered, nudging Cristina's arm.

Cristina sighed and shook her head. As much as she wanted to leave the heathens with Meredith, she had to take them home. Owen hadn't seen them at all today and he was waiting. She took her leave, and Meredith helped her load up her van. Collin was the last one in, because no matter how big he got Cristina still loved to carry him around.

"I was gonna say good luck, but it seemed weird," Meredith said, lingering by the van. "If anything big happens with Juliet tomorrow, call me."

She had been up to date on news about the little girl since her admission to the hospital, so it was natural for her to want to know what happened when she woke up. But Cristina knew she was also anxious to hear about the results of the paternity test, or the aftermath of it. When it was proven, when it became really, truly true, the battle for Henry would begin.

It was a quiet ride home, because her twins conked out the moment the car started moving, and Henry was more for listening than babbling, and Collin was Collin. Cristina wished for once her car was alive with screaming toddlers, because that would keep her thoughts away.

Owen was waiting on the front porch, and he helped her get everyone unstrapped and on the ground. He reached for Collin, and the fickle kid actually let his dad pick him up.

When the kids were all streaking toward the front door and Owen had the baby in his arms, her husband finally looked at her.

"How did it go?"

"It was a small, crappy office with crappy staff. Henry is going to bruise. I ended up doing the draw." She closed all the van doors, locked it, and headed toward the house. "We convene with the judge in three or four days to hear the results. I already talked to Webber about it."

Owen stopped her unexpectedly by the front door and wrapped her in a strong, brief, one-armed hug. When he drew away, he kissed her forehead.

He went inside without saying a word.

Cristina stayed where she was, a little baffled, and grateful for the contact. It seemed like she had gone days without touching him. She trailed him inside, and sat on the back of the couch to watch him provoke Henry into a string of giggles.

"Juliet might wake up," she said, out of nowhere.

He looked up from his game, smiling, his eyes sparkling, "Did she move today?"

"Alex called." Cristina came around the couch, risking it, and sat beside him. He turned a little away from Henry, holding one arm up for her. Cristina scooted up and leaned into his chest. "He said she was drifting. If she wakes up in the middle of the night I might have to leave."

"Okay." He drew Henry up with one arm and laid him across both of their laps, poking him in the nose. Henry tried to bite him. "Did you teach him that?"

"I may have bitten him a few times."

Owen smiled at her, and her heart fluttered.

"He started it," she defended.

"I got in touch with a lawyer today." Owen cleared his throat.

Cristina said, stupidly, "A… divorce lawyer?"

"No. He thinks we have a pretty good case to deny Adham custody."

He was silent for a moment.

"Why would I need a divorce lawyer?"

Cristina shrugged. "You've been broody."

Owen looked down at her seriously, and then rested his head against the couch. His tone took on a gentle sadness. "I was mad when you told me, but then Henry got sick, and it reminded me of how much I love our family. You and me and the kids. We can do anything. We can get through anything. Unless _you_ wanted that divorce lawyer."

"No." Cristina smiled despite herself.

He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Once this is done, we can start over. No more lies. No more thinking about the past. Just you and me and the kids, okay?"

Cristina nodded, though she knew it was easier to promise not to think of the past than to actually let go of it. Bad things had a way of popping up again. But tonight she wanted to believe that they could turn it all around one day, if they could just get through this. It let her smile, and it made Owen smile, and suddenly their house was not so dark and gloomy. It was not her against Adham and her against Owen, but her and Owen against the world.


	33. The Morning After

**Chapter 33.**

 **The Morning After.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **August 11, 2019.**

"Do you remember what happened to you?"

Juliet Cortez had brown eyes. Cristina already knew that, but this was the first time she got to see them while the little girl was conscious. For some reason she seemed a lot older when she was sleeping, when her little mouth had a permanent frown on it, when there were tubes down her throat and leads attached to her chest. Suddenly she looked like a baby, all wrapped up in a hospital gown that was too big, surrounded by personal possessions brought in by her family. Her eyes were the most profound, though, the most telling. She had this glassy, fearful look about her, like the explosion had been captured there and would remain forever.

"Can you understand me?"

When bad things happened to children they were prone to the baby deer response, to lie down and be still, to wait for rescue. Her body had been through a trauma, through surgeries, her skin pricked and prodded, her bed made up around her, her family and friends passing through like wraiths. She was waking up for the first time, finding herself someplace else, far away from the accident that had put her to sleep. She had lost time. Instead of the morning after, it had been weeks. It was a type of fear and fragmentation that could only be cured by time.

Cristina took a seat beside her bed, folding her hands in her lap. "Juliet, you were in an accident. Your straightener exploded while you were using it and you got hurt. You're in the hospital. Do you understand?"

The glassy-eyed little girl gave a weak nod.

"Good. My name is Dr. Yang. I performed surgery on you after you got here. I know you probably feel a tightness in your chest, and it's hard for you to breathe. Your lungs were damaged by the explosion. That means you have to stay in the hospital until we can get you a transplant, so that you can breathe normally again."

Her patient was silent, breathing in shallow gasps. She looked down at her hands, turning them outward, flexing the white bandages that kept them still.

"You were holding the straightener," Cristina explained, though this part hurt the most to say. She could get a transplant to help her breathe, but this type of nerve damage would never be repaired. "When you feel a little better, we have to do some tests on your hands. For right now they need to stay wrapped up. Do you have any questions?"

Juliet looked up at her with wide, fearful eyes, and said nothing.

It was like she was being wheeled into the OR all over again. Cristina felt for her. Her whole situation was terrible. Her parents were fighting a legal battle trying to get her medical bills paid, they were stressed out of their minds, and this poor kid was waking up in the middle of a new life. Her hands would never work like they used to and she might spend years in the hospital, using a machine to breathe and perfuse her blood, before a donor could be found.

She only hoped her sympathy stayed out of her expression. Cristina had done well so far keeping her feelings separate from her duty to this girl and her family.

Her parents came back into the room a few minutes later, after being briefed by Alex on the treatment plan from this point on. Her mother hugged Cristina, and her father went straight to Juliet, stroking her hair and whispering something to her in Spanish. Cristina disengaged, giving them the usual spill about contacting her or pushing the button if something seemed wrong, and then she stepped out into the hall.

"I hate this case," Alex admitted in a whisper, once the door was shut. He was standing against the wall, his arms folded tightly on his chest, looking at the ground.

Cristina nodded, heaving a sigh. "Juliet is awake. This is a good thing."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." Alex glanced at the door, and then heaved himself off the wall, doing a little drunken stagger on his way to the breakroom. "She woke up, but if we can't find a donor in, say, the next six months, no machine is gonna save her."

Cristina knew that. She hated it. It was what made this whole thing so hard. Machines could only do so much to replace functions of the human body and perfusing blood was one of the most delicate. Without functional lungs, Juliet was doomed. She was awake, and her parents were looking toward the future, and she would slowly recover from the shock of it all, but the rug might still get ripped out from under them.

"See you tomorrow," Alex grunted, leaving it at that. He touched her arm, and then pushed his way into the breakroom.

She could not go home, like he was. She got in her car, switched lab coats, and drove across the street to her second job. Today the glistening floors of the PCRC did not seem quite so bright. She walked into her office with her shoulders slumped, and found it occupied.

Oliver Brightly was sitting across from her desk, his feet kicked up on the edge, flipping through her trial proposal paperwork.

If anything could shake her out of her funk, it was walking in on one of her idols smiling at her work. He perked up when the door shut, holding up the folder he was reading. "Good afternoon, Dr. Yang. I hope it's alright that I came in. I wanted to talk with you."

Cristina wanted to point out that this entire building, this entire empire, belonged to him, but she didn't. Instead she took a seat at her desk and smiled, "Um, okay."

"Something bumming you out?"

"I just… long day at the hospital."

"Ahh. Your _other_ job." Oliver shut the folder and set it down with its brothers and sisters, a whole collection of proposals. "Did you lose a patient?"

"No, actually. I had one wake up from a coma. But it was…"

"Bittersweet. I know. Juliet Cortez." Oliver folded his hands across his stomach, giving those golden ringlets a toss so they tumbled over his forehead. "Her case it all over the news and her parents made a public statement earlier today about the company that fried her lungs with that faulty straightener. It's terrible, what they're doing to them."

Cristina was a little disturbed that he knew so much about her patient, but also intrigued. "How did you know that was my case?"

"Heart and lungs. Easy guess." Oliver patted the pile of paperwork. "Anyway, that was at your _other_ job. You're here now. So let's talk about all these proposals that keep coming through my email."

She was thrown by him, not expecting company and not really prepared to go through her work with her boss' boss, but it was obvious he was not giving her a choice. She started from the top and worked her way down, describing her ideas and methodology, her inspirations, and the real patients in various countries who would benefit from the proposed trials. Oliver listened well. He was engaged, he asked questions, he made comments, he told her he thought some things were silly or impossible, and complimented her on others.

He seemed genuinely fascinated by her work, and when they were done summarizing everything, he signed off on five of her proposals, trashed one, and put another on hold. Even then he was not done. He sat back in his chair, eyed her with one eyebrow cocked, and said, "Come to dinner."

"What?" Cristina was thrown again.

"Come to dinner with me. It's a little late, I know, but I want to get to know you better. I vet all of my employees, professionally and personally."

Cristina hesitated, "I have a lot of paperwork-"

"Come on. This counts as work." Oliver hopped up, and that was that.

He offered to drive, and they ended up at a nice restaurant on the river, with an open, festively lit terrace looking out on the water. Cristina was apprehensive at first, thinking, strangely, that he might be hitting on her, but it turned out to be a different sort of dinner.

Oliver did most of the talking. He told her about his other hospitals, all over the country, and the specialties of each – she already knew them, but he spoke with such enthusiasm she couldn't help but let him keep talking. He told her about meeting Burke and becoming a friend of his family, about offering him the position at the PCRC and about their choice of location in Seattle.

When the meal was done and most of the other patrons had left the restaurant, he told her about his life in a muted tone, gazing out at the river with a glass of water dripping in his hand.

"I was very young when I started learning about medicine. Six or seven, I think. My father was a primary care doctor and my mother was a surgeon. She was one of those pioneers, like that Ellis Grey, your friend Meredith's mother."

Cristina was not surprised that he knew about her relationship with Meredith. She was also not surprised by his history. "I read your book."

"Ahh. You know, the press keeps insisting I did, but I took no liberties with my stories. Everything happened exactly that way." Oliver took a sip of his water and gave her a wicked smile. "Outsiders will never understand the thrill of our work."

"Why did you invite me out here?" Cristina wondered suddenly.

Oliver shrugged. "I was being honest. I like to know my employees. I had dinner with that student of yours, Shane Ross, a few weeks ago. He has some great ideas, too."

He was still magnetic, no matter how much time she spent with him. She lamented not being twenty years younger, because a man like Oliver Brightly came around once in a lifetime. It was strange that he was unmarried, that he had no children. He may have been a medical titan, a man worth millions, maybe billions, with his name being stamped all over the history books, but he was also quite handsome, quite charming.

Cristina spoke without realizing it, coming off of a story he had been telling of his first time getting to observe a surgery performed by his mother.

"You have all these specializations all over the country, but you're missing one."

Oliver sat up a little, folding his hands together, those sparkly blue eyes lighting up with childish wonder. "Am I?"

"Pediatrics."

"Some people debate about that specialty."

"Pediatric patients are in an entirely different developmental group, and they make up one of the _biggest_ groups in medicine today."

"I think the biggest group is actually geriatric right now."

"I said one of the biggest groups." Cristina was thinking about Juliet, and it showed in her tone, "Kids are different."

Oliver gave a long, thoughtful pause, and then finally set his water down.

"Tell me more about this pediatric hospital."


	34. Queen of the Castle

**Chapter 34.**

 **Queen of the Castle.**

 **Seattle, Washington.**

 **August 12, 2019.**

"I hate lawyers."

Cristina smiled, giving up her grouchiness for a moment to appreciate his suffering. "Did the big bad lawyers keep you tied up on the phone all morning?"

"I had to hang up to deal with one of my patients crashing, and they called my phone fourteen times," Alex grumbled, poking at his mashed potatoes with a sour expression. "If all of this was about anything else…"

"But all of this is for her," Cristina reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah."

It had been a good day so far. Juliet might end up with the settlement she needed from the company that made the faulty straightener, she had somehow made it to a texting relationship with Oliver Brightly, and her interns had been busy doing paperwork all morning. She had slept long and peaceful last night all wrapped up in Owen and nobody cried on the way to daycare.

But there was always a storm cloud.

Maggie Pierce came into the cafeteria and flashed a fake sort of smile at Cristina as she grabbed a tray. She had grown a lot since she started – now she looked like a proper doctor instead of a moony-eyed med school graduate – but even if she stepped in to personally save Cristina from a falling ice-cream truck, she would still be on her bad side. She was the head of cardio at this hospital, appointed when Cristina left and allowed to keep her position when Cristina returned. She had screwed up a few times when she started the job and Cristina had dug up every little issue and tried to use it to get her fired, but she had no luck. Maggie was dug in like a preppy little tick, and Cristina was stuck taking orders from her.

Her company thought it was funny. "I think she likes you."

"You shut your whore mouth," Cristina growled, staring bullets into her supervisor's back. "We have to do something about her."

"She does fine."

"Whose side are you on?"

Alex paused mid-chew and shrugged, "Yours, whatever."

"Okay then, we have to dethrone that pretender."

"I think you're taking this way too personally."

"No, not me, Dr. Webber. He's taking it too personally. So he had a love child with Ellis Grey. Big whoop. I have an illegitimate kid, too. Does that mean Henry is qualified to be head of cardio?"

"Did you miss your nap time or something?"

Cristina snorted, watching Maggie take her seat among some other young doctors she had befriended, including the always irritating April Kepner. "You don't understand. You work under your mentor, your guru, whatever, and I work under someone way underqualified. I take orders from her. I have to run my risky surgeries by her."

"You already tried to take your crown back, remember? Webber bit your head off."

"What if I blackmail her? I mean, there's something weird about her kid, right?"

"You wanna use her kid to get her fired?"

"No. I wanna use her kid to get her to step down."

"And you call me evil spawn."

"Shut up. I'm plotting."

"Maybe you two could just kiss and make up."

"Unlikely." Cristina left her tray, and her companion, and made for the exit. She felt Maggie watching her leave. Now that she was settled in to her life, she needed to dethrone the usurper. Nothing felt right with Maggie Pierce at the top of the cardio pyramid.

She had only just made it into the hall when her phone rang.

It was Derek. "How goes life at the hospital?"

He sounded cheery, as usual. He loved his teaching job and Meredith kept saying he was sickeningly high on life lately. "Smelly and busy. What's up?"

"So you remember when I told you I wanted to talk to some of my old college colleagues about Collin?"

"Sort of?"

"Well, I heard back from my friend Dr. Garrett, a child behavior specialist, and he wants to meet with Collin. Would it be okay if I came and got him for a few hours?"

Cristina glanced toward the middle of the building, where the daycare was, and imagined the meltdown Collin would have if Derek tried to take him somewhere. She cringed, just thinking about it. "Um, probably not a great idea for you to pick him up."

"Oh, yeah, I wasn't thinking."

"But I can ask Shane to come get him."

"You sure?"

"He has this morning off and I would bet good money that he's in his underwear playing video games right now."

"Okay, just text me and let me know."

"Your house?"

"No, the University."

Cristina put a call out to Shane and tried to convince him that he had promised to take Collin over to see Derek today. When that failed, she asked him to do it for her, as a favor. He griped and groaned about it, but agreed. Collin loved him. Everything would go so much more smoothly if he was with someone he trusted. Shane knew that.

She had a surgery scheduled in half an hour, so she stowed her phone in her locker, equipped her pagers, and headed upstairs. She was unfortunate enough to take an elevator ride with Adham, and he reminded her, snippily, that they were due in front of a judge the following day to have the DNA results read and the terms of the lawsuit discussed. She came out scowling, growled at one of her interns when he tried to talk to her, and waved them all into a little huddle.

"Who hasn't shadowed me yet?"

Three hesitant hands went up.

Cristina groaned. "Fine. Day, you come with me. The rest of you, finish those discharges. And I swear Booth if you lose one more patient I'll lose _you_."

She started down the hall, and Nicholas Day scurried after her, glancing back at his less fortunate fellows. He was the one who reminded her of Alex and she needed someone a little cocky today. She was feeling fiery and she needed someone who could relate.

"We have a standard bypass scheduled on a 55-year-old male. He has a history of tobacco use and has had two previous, unsuccessful bypasses at other hospitals. Possible complications?"

She quizzed him all the way to the OR, and was usually pleased by his answers. All of her interns were smart, just to make it to where they were. Nicholas was a clever kind of smart. He was more outspoken than Lawson and less obtuse than Hannah.

Her patient was waving at her from pre-op when her pager went off. It was an emergency call from the trauma bay.

"Bad news. Come on."

They made it downstairs in less than a two minutes, panting. A gurney flashed by them on the way to an OR. Maggie Pierce was running beside it, her hands pressed on the sternum of an unconscious man. Cristina gave chase, with Nicholas on her heels.

"GSW to the chest," Maggie announced, breathless, as she backed off and let a nurse replace her compression. "No pulse. Start a transfusion!"

Everything was rushed from there.

Cristina and Maggie barked orders at everyone, including each other, and stood on opposite sides of the table. Cristina clamped arteries and put stitches in torn vessels while Maggie removed the bullet. Nicholas stood back, all dressed up in his OR gear, wide-eyed. He handed her whatever she asked, but still stepped away, like he was afraid the next bullet was coming for him.

It took half an hour to halt the majority of the bleeding. The bullet had made a clean path and they repaired the damage from the inside out, leaving the chest cavity gaping open to inspect for leaks. His blood pressure rose steadily as an infusion pumped its way into his veins. Cristina slowed her work, becoming gentler with the sutures, watching his vitals and waiting for the second wave of chaos to come. But it never did. He was stable in just under two hours.

"Breathe," Cristina told her intern, who stood frozen at her shoulder. His hands were bloody because she had guided his fingers over the major vessels to feel how they bulged under pressure. He held them up and away from his body like they were still sterile.

His eyes shot to her, and then back to the patient, and he exhaled.

"Good boy. Go scrub out."

Maggie cleared her throat, her voice muffled by her mask, "Would you like to close, Dr. Yang?"

Cristina surveyed her, and shrugged. "Fine."

She closed surrounded by nurses and in the company of the anesthesiologist, because both her young intern and her young supervisor found other places to be. It was peaceful. While she was sewing lines into the patient's chest, she wondered if she would ever feel this peaceful after seeing the judge tomorrow. Certainly not, if the judge decided Henry was better off without her.


	35. Shockwave

**Chapter 35.**

 **Shockwave.**

 **August 13, 2019.**

Cristina could not get comfortable. Her wooden chair groaned as she shifted from side to side, and her back ached from sitting so long on the porch swing the night before, just holding her son in her arms. Owen kept trying to tell her that this was just preliminary, a meeting to touch bases after the test was read, but something inside her could not calm down. She was antsy. Her seat felt like it had spikes. She wanted to run and fight at the same time, to pick up a heavy law book and smack some sense into Adham, and then take the baby and leave.

Her husband was calm and quiet, his eyes thoughtful. He had one of her hands, like he suspected she was going to run, and he sat perfectly still in his uncomfortable chair.

Just a few feet away Adham Farrah sat with the same calm, the same quiet. For the moment he and Owen were reflections of one another, two sides of the same coin, two people waiting to see who would get baby Henry to call them 'dad.' It was almost a competition to see who could seem more confident. Adham was losing. He was more rigid than Owen, his eyes locked on the sealed folder sitting on the judge's desk. She had not gotten around to opening it yet. He had a stack of papers in his lap, his presentation, his case for custody, but he was running his thumb over the edge constantly, worrying the perfect corner until it folded.

What was he thinking about? What was he going to say, when the results were read? What terrible things did he have written about her in those documents of his?

When the judge finished reading the lawsuit that had brought them all here, she picked up the sealed folder, glanced at both parties, and drew a letter opener down one end of it. She popped it open, slid some documents out, and tipped her glasses up to read a short summary.

"Will the parties please state their names."

Cristina swallowed when the men looked at her. _Ladies first_. "Cristina Yang."

"Owen Hunt."

"Adham Farrah, your honor."

Adham wanted to be on the judge's good side, so he could steal her son.

"I have here the results of the paternity test involving you, Adham Farrah, and Henry Hunt."

Cristina looked at Owen, like she had so many times this year, and wondered if this was when she would lose him. Was this their last moment? He said he was alright with this, that they would fight it together, as a family, but could he really mean that? Custody battles were terrible. Bad things came to light. With a past like hers they barely stood a chance of winning. If he won he could take her baby away to Egypt and never let her see him again.

And then came the shockwave.

"Adham Farrah is not the father of Henry Hunt."

Whatever sound Cristina made was drowned out by a loud, surprised " _What_?" from Adham.

The judge set the documents down. "You are not the biological father of Henry Hunt. You have no grounds to sue for custody of Henry, and in light of these results I am dismissing your case."

Cristina sat in stunned silence. It was like a tremor had gone through the office, only felt on one side of the desk. She had been waiting for terrible news, the worst thing she might ever hear in her life, but it never came. Her eyes filled with tears.

And then there was Adham.

He looked at her with such betrayal that she almost thought he would break into pieces right there, a person lost to his emotions, but he simply rose from his chair and left the office. He left in silence, without argument, without so much as a glance back at her.

Owen cleared his throat and squeezed her hand, drawing her closer by her shoulders. "So, what does that mean? What does that mean for Henry?"

Something in her eyes was almost relieved when the judge said, "It means he has no grounds to sue you for custody of Henry. Since you're listed as his father on his birth certificate, Henry is considered your son under the law. Dr. Farrah was only able to press his claim because you were not on the birth certificate at the time it was made."

Cristina wiped her tears away, and shook her head, "No, he was."

The judge pursed her lips, glancing down at the documents spread before her. "His claim was first filed on the 25th of July, of this year."

"No, that was… over a week before he…" Cristina was baffled. "He lied to me."

"Can we see the claim?" Owen asked.

"Yes. It's public record."

Cristina took the document with shaky hands, twisting it when Owen tried to take it from her. She scanned every line, frowned at the date and at his signature, and then found the worst of it in the summary. "He said I was a danger to Henry. He called me…"

"It doesn't matter now," Owen said.

"It matters." Cristina shook some of the shock off, and replaced it with anger.

"Come on. We should go pick the kids up, and go home."

Cristina followed her husband outside, numb, and tried to spot Adham in the lobby. She wanted to see him, to do whatever she could to hurt him, because he had hurt her. In his summary he said she was an addict, a danger to her son, too irresponsible and flighty to care for a special needs child and too overwhelmed already to give Henry the attention he deserved. She was going to make him eat those words next time she saw him.

In the car, she said, "I don't know."

"Hmm?" Owen looked over. "What?"

"I don't know who his father is, if it's not Adham."

"That doesn't matter."

"But I don't even know, Owen. It could be some random junkie."

"It doesn't matter. I'm his dad. I'm his dad."

Cristina stayed in her head for a while. When they picked the kids up, she studied her youngest, trying to remember the blurry faces she had seen while she was on her worst benders. Was his father out there somewhere? Was he some drunk French guy? Some handsome Somali bartender? Was he going to show up next, and demand custody of her son?

She left right after they got home, heading to the Shepherd house. Owen didn't try to stop her, but he held onto her for a moment and kissed her forehead, repeating what he had said in the van. He was right. He was Henry's dad.

When she saw Meredith she lost it for a little while. She laid in bed with her, crying on her shoulder, trying to explain what happened while sobbing. She was angry that she was so upset, because this was good news, and frustrated by what she had done while she was gone. She felt mixed up inside. She felt bad. Everything had worked out wrong.

"Whoever it was, he was just a donor." Meredith said, stroking her hair. "Henry is your son. You and Owen are his parents. No one will ever take him from you."

"That's not why I'm crying."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I don't know!"

Meredith smiled, and held on a little tighter. "Okay. That's okay, too."


	36. Aftermath

**Chapter 36.**

 **Aftermath.**

 **August 13, 2019.**

She should have gone home.

She knew it the moment she knocked on his door. She knew it when the latch turned, when she saw that somber face of his. Meredith called ahead. Of course she did. Her friend knew her better than she knew herself, and even before she had decided to turn down his road, Meredith knew.

Shane simply stepped aside, and Cristina walked into his house wordlessly. It was smaller than hers, warmer, dimly lit by the glow of a television.

She sat on his couch, her arms folded tightly, and watched a stupid reality show. Shane brought her a glass of water, set it carefully on the coffee table, and sat down beside her. He waited in silence, always the patient one.

Cristina tried to understand why she had come here, and came up blank. The news from the judge had shocked her, thrown her right off her axis. She felt like she was groping around in murky water. It had all been so clear before, when she thought Adham was her adversary, her opponent, and that she and Owen would be forced to fight for custody of Henry, but now that was over. Adham was not his father. She was left with this ball of fire she was going to use to fight, and no one to throw it at. She should be relieved.

So why was she so afraid?

"Owen was quiet today."

Her words interrupted a monologue by the host of the reality show, and made Shane jump. She had been sitting silently for almost ten minutes.

Her friend wondered, "What happened?"

Cristina shrugged, grasping for the answer to that question. What happened? "Owen was so quiet and accepting. So strong. But I lost it."

"Cristina…?"

"Shane, I lost it." She sat back against the cushion, reminded of her past when she looked at that boyish face of his, those emotive brown eyes. "When did I become so weak?"

"You're not weak."

Cristina snorted and took a sip of her water, going on quietly and quickly, and destructively. "I let this control me, and I promised myself I would never let anything control me again. But here I am. I'm so afraid for Collin, so worried about Henry, so consumed by all of this… _crap_! When I told Owen I never wanted kids, this is why. _This is why_ , Shane."

"Cristina-"

He tried to push in gently, but she was not having it.

"When I met Meredith I thought she was like me, you know. I thought she got it. I thought Owen got it, and then I got the abortion and the battle lines were drawn. Is that why I did it? Is that why I adopted Collin? It's like I still wanted to be who he wanted me to be, deep down."

"You adopted Collin because he needed you," Shane cut in, finally finding his voice. There was a cold edge to it, "And that had nothing to do with Owen. What is this about? What happened today?"

Cristina groaned, "I screwed up by sleeping with Adham, Shane. That's what happened."

He waited, and she stayed quiet, and time passed. Eventually the show ended and he turned it to the history channel, and Cristina tried to figure out how to say what she wanted to say while watching war reenactments.

Shane spoke first, in a sad, guilty voice, "Since you… know for sure now, there was something… I have to tell you something."

She got a bad feeling in her gut. "What?"

He looked like a fearful puppy all of the sudden, his brow creased, his eyes on the ground. He fiddled with his hands, cleared his throat. "When you came to visit me in Switzerland, on your way to Syria… we got drunk."

She could only draw one word, "What?"

"We slept together."

Cristina jumped up so quickly that her vision blacked out for a moment. Blood rushed around. When she could see again, everything came perfectly clear. She saw him there, looking guilty, looking like a little boy who had broken a vase. " _What_?"

"I meant to bring it up before… before you went to see the judge, but it was around the time that Henry… well, it was around when…"

Cristina felt sick. "You son of a bitch." Her stomach twisted violently, tying itself into a knot, and she dove for the nearest trashcan. Even her voice rebelled against this revelation, and came out with a venom she had not heard in years. "You _son_ of a bitch."

Shane scrambled to speak, "I thought you knew. I thought you remembered."

"Bullshit. _Bullshit_ , Shane!" Cristina slapped his helping hands away, wanting least of all to be touched by him right now.

He recoiled, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? Adham is the father." Cristina sat back from the trashcan, her insides still convulsing. She was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to lash out, to hurl that ball of fire in his direction. "And Adham is taking him away."

It was like she had slapped him, the way he flinched. Cristina felt a stab of guilt. Shane was someone she loved. But how could he keep this from her? How could he take advantage of her? He knew how messed up she was. He _had_ to know. And all of this time with Adham, worrying about his parentage, fighting with him over visitation, Shane had been there. He had been there, and he could have told her. He could have taken that burden away. But he kept it to himself. He left her to drown and now, when he thought he was free and clear, he decided to come clean.

Cristina went on, merciless, "The only thing you should be sorry for is the fact that you just lost a friend today." She dealt that final blow, and left the house.

In the car, it was almost like her lie about Henry was true. If that was really happening, this was how she might feel about it. She could not get her brain to work. Things that had made sense for years were unraveling. She could barely manage her disgust, and how vulnerable she felt, and how thoroughly her view of one of her best friends had been shattered. And with that destruction a void formed, where warm feelings once lived. She had been the one to storm out, but she felt abandoned. It was fierce. It was profound. It was pointless.

She stayed in her car when she made it home, thinking of her son, of that little curly-headed baby with the wide, blind eyes, and wishing for a moment that Adham _was_ taking him. Henry might have a quiet life, without her in it.

But the moment passed, and that wish slithered away and joined her other sick thoughts about her children in the vault inside her head. All those things she was weak enough to think about.

It struck her suddenly that she had not cried since she was with Meredith. Maybe that part of the shock was over – the sad part. She should be relieved that Adham was not the father. She sat there, hands on the wheel, and tried to convince herself to let that emotion in. It crept forward, inch by inch, until Cristina managed a smile. Adham was never going to get custody of her son – the judge had confirmed it. His threats deflated and the chapter in her life with his face plastered on it went up in flames. Good riddance.

With that relief flooding her heart, she was able to think about Shane again. _Shane_. Sweet, warm, loyal Shane. She had told him, for some reason, that Adham was taking Henry away. It was just to hurt him, just to see that look on his face. Even more hurtful, she had confirmed that Adham was the father, when it was just as likely that Shane was – or some random junkie.

If he was the father, though, a few questions were answered. Would she ever face this kind of terror again? No. Shane would never challenge for custody. Would he want to be involved in his life? Yes. She could not imagine a world in which Shane neglected to know his own son. He was already loved by her other kids, particularly Collin, who was very hard to impress.

Her answers gave way to more questions. Would she let him be a father to Henry? What would happen when she told Owen about this? Would she ever really escape what she had done?

Eventually, when an hour or so must have passed, the front door opened and Owen came out. He looked drowsy, maybe a little cranky, and in the lit doorway behind him was the unmistakable figure of her eldest son. Owen made his way up to the car, yanked her door open, and gave her a long, curious look.

"Where have you been?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

Cristina responded honestly, "I went to see Meredith, and then Shane."

He disliked the last name, but barely reacted to it. He just pulled her out of the car and coaxed her toward the house. "Come on."

They sat together on the front porch swing.

"Do you wanna talk?" Owen asked.

Cristina shook her head.

He nodded, kissed her hair, and sat with her for a while. When someone cried inside, their time was up, and they walked together into the house. Owen sent her toward the bedroom, and Cristina didn't object. The last thing she wanted to do was try to soothe a screaming toddler right now. She laid in bed, on top of the sheets, and took long, deep breaths.

Collin joined her within a few minutes. He sat up by her side, taking her hand and playing with her joints, with her fingernails. He was silent, as always, and she appreciated it.

"You needed me," Cristina said, picking up something Shane had said when they were arguing. In her anger it had seemed plausible that she adopted Collin to please Owen, on some level. But it was never for him. It was for Collin, and for her. It was for this, moments like this.

She watched him, this little curly-haired boy who had taken her life and added new depth to it. He looked nothing like her, his mind was something of a mystery, and he had a bum leg, but there were not words for the way he made her feel. It was like her whole day of conflict had never happened. She was back there again, back in the hospital with a squalling newborn in her arms, with her friend Phyllis screaming in the other room. She was dying. Not physically, but inside. His father was the love of her life, his older brother her little angel. It was their loss she felt, when he was born. No joy. No love.

Cristina drew him into her arms, holding him tightly like she had when he was just a little helpless thing, and deciding that he did not make her feel helpless or weak.

He made her feel strong.


	37. Daddy's Eyes

**Chapter 37.**

 **Daddy's Eyes.**

 **August 16, 2019.**

It was one of those nights when she got to go home. Her schedule at the hospital and at the PCRC had been chaotic, with some nights spend at the hospital, and others avoiding her former friend while sorting through trial paperwork. She preferred being at the hospital in the morning and the research center in the evening, so she could monitor Juliet during her physical therapy, but lately the scheduler had been working against her. Cristina suspended she was allied with Pierce.

But tonight she was going from paperwork and casual business attire to pajamas. Home was a welcome sight, and even the sound of Evelyn screaming bloody murder could not dampen her mood. She walked right inside, dropped her bag by the door, and flopped onto the couch.

"How was work?" Owen asked, like he did every time he saw her. He even asked when they were working together that day.

Cristina stretched her arms up over her head luxuriously, like a cat that had just found a good spot to nap in. She caught one of his hands as he walked over, pulling him down so she could plant a kiss on his lips. "Quiet."

He smiled, leaning down over the back of the couch and wrapping both arms around her. His whole body was warm, and Henry was sleeping in the recliner in a bundle of blankets. He must have been holding him before he heard her car roll up.

"See you in the morning," he murmured, kissing her on the side of the head. He gave her a hard squeeze before drawing away.

Cristina turned to watch him go, wishing that he could also have a 'home' night.

When he was gone, the house went suspiciously quiet. Cristina did her rounds and found Evelyn trying her damndest to hide a bottle of chocolate syrup she had been pouring into her mouth. She screamed when it was confiscated, and followed Cristina all the way to the kitchen as if she could just get it back. Cristina countered her protest by pouring it all down the drain.

"You're the last one who needs more sugar," Cristina told her.

Evelyn hit the ground and wailed, and Cristina stepped around her to hunt down the other monsters. Noah was sitting in the dry bathtub while Collin pretended to pour water over his head with a plastic cup. She let them be, glad neither was trying to pretend drown the other.

She came full circle to Henry, who was awake and trying to wiggle out of the chair. Cristina scooped him into her arms and sat with him. Henry smiled, recognizing the way she smelled.

She meant to put on a movie, to attract the other kids to the room and let them all get sucked into the screen, but Henry distracted _her_. He cooed and smiled and ran his little hands over her neck and cheeks. She ended up sitting there, looking at him, trying to find parts of Shane and parts of herself in his face.

Henry was still too small. He was half the size he should be at his age, and far behind developmentally. His torso was stockier than his legs could hold, so he was only good at pulling himself up to stand. Walking would have to come later. His hearing had not been effected by the swelling in his brain, but he could only detect changing light with his eyes. He was only wearing a diaper, so the scars on his belly were clear – fat, ugly, pinkish lines from emergency surgery, stretching as he grew. Months ago it broke her heart to see those lines, but now it only hurt a little. Despite everything that had gone wrong, Henry was happy.

And he had never looked more like Shane. It was not in his cheeks or his nose, which seemed to have both come from her, but in his eyes. He had that distinct slant she passed on to all of her biological children, but his were not the same brown as hers. His were warm and dark. She had spent long enough looking at those eyes to recognize them in her son.

If she could see how much he looked like Shane, could Owen? Did he already suspect it? Cristina had to be sure this time.

Henry coughed, and then laughed, throwing his arm up and nearly punching her in the jaw. Cristina wrapped his blanket a little tighter. He had been fighting off a chest cold for a few days and it was screwing with his body temperature. Owen bought a microfiber blanket to keep him warm.

She spent most of the night in the chair with Henry. Her twins curled up on the couch and Collin went to his own bed, and she cut the TV off and sat in the dark. Henry woke her a few times by moving around, and Noah rolled off the couch and hit the floor in the middle of the night, but he never woke up, so Cristina put a blanket on him and left him there.

Dawn came, and the sound of tires in the driveway made them all stir.

"Wet diapers," she said, as soon as she was conscious. Henry was soaked. "Oh, gross."

She was changing him when Owen came in. He set his bag down beside the one she had dropped the night before and leaned over the couch, smiling down at the twins. "Long night?"

Cristina shrugged. "Nope. Quiet."

He came around and picked up Noah, who was trying to sit up. One side of his face was red from lying on the floor. Owen frowned at it, and looked at her questioningly.

"He looked so peaceful." Cristina set Henry on the couch, and went to work on Evelyn. "How was the night shift? Loony house lose any patients?"

"No, but we had another GSW to the chest come in. Almost the exact same entry wounds."

Cristina was surprised by that. "Really? Same area?"

"No, they found him in some bushes across town, in a busy area. Police said we might have a serial killer in Seattle."

"I'll be damned." Cristina whistled, and dumped Evelyn beside her brother.

"Do you have to-"

"Work today? Yes. In about an hour. So I should probably shower. I smell like pee."

"You can have it first."

"You shower before you leave work anyway."

"Can never be too careful."

Cristina was halfway to their bedroom when the thought struck her.

"Owen… I have to tell you something."

He set Noah down on the couch and put the TV on cartoons. His expression shifted to uncertainty. She had become familiar with this look since battling her addictions. No matter how long it had been, no matter how far they had come, his mind would always go there first. It always stung a little. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is… wrong… per say. I think that… Shane might be Henry's biological father."

Owen's jaw stiffened, but other than that there was no change in his expression. It was eerie, how well her husband could control his face.

She started babbling, unsure if he was contemplating murder, or just not that bothered by it, "We were both drunk, and I barely remember it, but it was around the same time that… Well, I'm not sure if he is, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, because you're Henry's dad. And you know Shane is my friend. Shane is a really _good_ friend. We should just… keep this between us until I know for sure."

Owen only thought for a moment, making her lean toward the 'not that bothered' possibility, but his tone was icy, "No promises."

She had expected more, so she stood there like an idiot. "Is that it?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I thought you were gonna… blow a gasket, or something."

Owen smiled. He actually smiled. In a moment it had turned into a tired frown, and she realized how tired he looked for the first time. Owen was gaunt, with deep purple bags under his eyes. He must have been in that GSW surgery for most of his shift.

"Maybe when I wake up," he said, letting his good nature show through. "You shower. I'll get the kids ready for daycare."

"Will you-?"

"Yeah, I'll be up to pick them up at 5."

Cristina was torn between suspicion that he might be placating her – so that he could go and murder Shane in peace – and joy that she had married someone as kind as him. If the situation were reversed, Cristina would have been spitting fire by now.

She went about her morning routine, pushing Shane out of her mind. It was a new day, with new challenges, and she was going to make the best of it.


	38. Schism

**Chapter 38.**

 **Person.**

 **August 20, 2019.**

"Cristina working at the paper factory tonight?"

Owen snorted, giving his friend a sideways glance as he popped another shrimp into his mouth. His wife had taken to calling her second job the 'paper factory' because she spent most of her days there filling out paperwork for clinical trials and research grants. She never complained about it openly, but Owen could tell it tired her out more than the hospital. It might have been the pressure of working under her illustrious idol Oliver Brightly, or the fact that her former apprentice Shane Ross worked there with her.

She was there again tonight, occasionally wasting time by texting him. "Yeah, or she would be at that recital with Meredith and Zola."

Derek dug a beer from the cooler between them, propping his feet up on the railing of his expansive back porch. It was late evening, but the sun had not quite gone down. From here they could see all the kids, running happily through the grass and squealing at each other.

"Everything okay between you two?" Derek wondered quietly.

Owen bristled a little at the question – only because so many people had been asking him that lately – but answered mechanically anyway, "Yes."

It was the truth. It was strange, but since she told him that Shane Ross might be the father of their son, Owen had been able to let go of some of his deepest rooted animosities toward his wife. For the past few days they had been getting along fine, though they never really spoke about her revelation. It would come eventually, he knew, but for now he was content. Shane had never been his favorite person, and now his feelings toward him were foggier than ever. He was somewhere between wanting to shoot him and shun him.

Derek let the silence stretch out between them, never the type to pry.

"Cristina thinks…" Owen began, uncertain. He hadn't said this out loud yet and the words got stuck in his throat. "Well, she told me she slept with Shane around when Henry was conceived."

Derek said nothing for a while, content to eat a few more shrimp and tip his head back to stare at the stars. Owen watched him, curious for his reaction – maybe to see if he was taking this news wrong. There was no judgement in his voice when he finally said, "So, Ross is the father?"

"Maybe."

Derek glanced over, looking appropriately upset at last, which made Owen wonder why he was so calm about the whole thing. He was no longer angry, though he should have knocked down Ross' front door and beat him to a pulp by now. No, Cristina wouldn't want that. She had a special relationship with Ross, one that had transcended her mentorship. Maybe he was worried that acting jealous and angry now would lead to something else.

"I wanted to hurt him, for doing it, and for letting her leave that night." Owen set his drink down, unwilling to take another sip. He was afraid he might crush it in his hand as his thoughts turned dark. "But it's a relief, too. He would never fight for custody."

Derek nodded thoughtfully, a little twinge of anger in his brow. Owen was sure that if he asked his old friend to go get a pitchfork, they would start the march to Ross' apartment together.

"More than that," Owen went on, unable to stop himself, "She loves him."

His friend nodded again, sipping his beer and shaking his head slowly. "Is it…? I mean, does she _love_ him, or…?"

Owen shrugged. "I could never tell with those two."

"Me neither. But she loves you more. I can see that. Anyone could."

"I know."

Owen wasn't troubled by that. With all the things they'd been through, he no longer doubted how much she loved him. But there was a jealous man inside that wanted her love for him to be exclusive. What if she felt that way for Shane, even a little bit?

"I talked to Garrett about Collin," Derek said, changing the topic expertly. "He wanted to run it by some other colleagues of his. It turns out we know each other – we studied behavioral science together in college."

It was a distraction alright. Owen turned his attention to the yard, where Bailey and Collin were running around together trying to catch sluggish fireflies.

"How is he doing?" Derek wondered.

"Better lately, but more of the same."

Owen could say 'better' truthfully, but he had been avoiding setting the boy off for weeks now. Cristina insisted he stop trying to wrestle with him and just let him do his own thing, which was a hard parenting style for Owen, who was very hands-on. But their eldest son was independent. He was observant and clever, determined, able to set a plan for himself and see it through. Some nights he waited up for Cristina on the couch and then went straight to his own bed when he knew she was home. His big blue eyes could be plagued by awful mistrust and fury, but they could also brim with joy. Owen had accepted, grudgingly, that Collin just disliked him sometimes.

Derek seemed to be able to read his thoughts. He patted Owen on the shoulder. "None of this is your fault. I think all the blame for his behavioral… issues… goes to his birth mother."

He was not entirely sure of that, but Owen nodded anyway. He groped for another topic. "How is that argument with Meredith going?"

Derek groaned, "Raging. Meredith is just… stubborn."

Meredith and Derek had been arguing about getting plastic surgery for their scarred daughter Lexi for a while now. She nearly died when she was born, and the scar was the only reason she made it this far. But other kids pointed and stared and Meredith thought Lexi was going to get low self-esteem because of it. Derek thought she was still too young to care, and that they should wait.

"Cristina wants to wait until Collin turns five to have his next leg surgery," Owen told him.

"He gets around alright," Derek observed.

His night went on like that, a quiet reflection, a calm pool in a chaotic ocean of a life. He was starting to understand why Cristina always said that Meredith was her 'person.' If he had a problem he couldn't bring to Cristina, who would he call? It would probably be Derek. As irritating as he could be sometimes, the two of them got along really well. Somehow they understood each other.

"So, how far is the walk to Ross' from here? I have some tiki-torches we could light."

Owen snorted, and sipped his drink. "Heard from your buddy lately?"

"Who? Oh. Swartz? Yeah."

"How is his niece doing?"

"His nephew, and great. I gave him a few pointers over the phone. He might bring him by if his grade doesn't get any better." Derek drew in a long breath, taking another, longer swallow of his beer. "Is that what I am now? Middle school science tutor?"

"Beats being dead."

Derek smiled, "Sure does, Hunt. Sure does."


	39. Awake

**Chapter 39.**

 **Awake.**

 **August 21, 2019.**

"Great lungs. Just great. Look at the lobes on this one… that vasculature. No smoke, good amount of exercise, no knife wounds. Just great."

Lawson looked at her strangely, but seemed unable to disagree. "Yes, Dr. Yang."

"Plus, this kid has an excellent spot for them. No previous injuries. I did a fabulous job repairing these bronchial tubes… I should get an award. I should be a sculptor."

"Yes, Dr. Yang."

Cristina placed the old, destroyed organ in a biohazard bag, wrinkling her nose at it. She had seen plenty of lungs damaged by fire, but never lung tissue riddled with such deformities as these. Juliet had been lucky to survive the explosion, lucky to get replacements so quickly.

Her new lung was perfect in every feasible way, even size. Cristina put it in place delicately, paying close attention to the remaining, working lung, as she tried to get the new one connected. It was a long process, mostly because she had to run over a dozen tests to ensure the new lung was inflating properly, not leaking, and adequately oxidizing the blood. It was made longer because she stopped to instruct Lawson, to admire her handiwork, and to allow for a few photos that would eventually be used when the Cortez family progressed their lawsuit.

She was also being careful, almost too careful. She had grown attached to Juliet and her family and losing the little girl would be a bad blow.

"Looks good. Excellent work, Dr. Yang," Lawson said over her shoulder.

She smiled, "Thank you."

"Stop that," Alex groaned from the other side of the table. He was helping Cristina close the chest cavity. "She has enough people worshipping her."

"I was just-" Lawson started.

"Groveling," Cristina finished, "And it is perfectly acceptable. Ignore Dr. Korev."

She would never tell anyone this, but Lawson was her favorite intern. He was nice to look at, first, given his mixed heritage, and he was also trustworthy, honest, and smart as a whip. He picked up skills nearly twice as fast as the other interns, but never bragged about it. He was also good with Juliet, a reliable watchdog if something went wrong with the girl.

He was the one she chose to attend the transplant, for those reasons.

Once the girl was off to recovery, Cristina was off to lunch. She was starving, having spent the early hours of the morning in surgery. She kept her tablet with her, monitoring the girl from afar, waiting until she was transferred from the surgery bay to a new room in the CCU, where she would spend the forty-eight hours. If nothing went wrong, she would move back to her regular room.

Cristina took up a spot at the CCU main desk, expecting her to wake up sometime in the new few hours. Since her case was so critical, she was the only focus for Cristina today. Her only other work was paperwork brought over from the PCRC.

She had been there for three hours when Wyatt strode into the CCU.

He walked right past her at first, and then whipped his long legs around and came to join her behind the desk, twiddling his fingers. Cristina waited for him to say something, to announce himself, but he just stood there minute after minute.

Finally, she looked up at him, "What?"

"I want you to come to dinner at my apartment."

Cristina gawked at him. "What?"

"I want you-"

"No, no. I heard you. I just… why?"

Wyatt shrugged. He looked remarkably like a hybrid between her mother and her new husband, almost like their genes had split evenly down the middle. His eyes only slanted slightly, his hair was black, but duller than hers, and he was stick-thin like Saul.

Cristina was blown away by his request, and tempted to turn him down outright, but Dean was in her head all the sudden. He wanted her to bond with Wyatt, right?

"Um, okay."

Wyatt nodded to himself, and walked off without setting a date.

Cristina was left looking after him, her pen hovering over the last line she had written on her paperwork. "What a weirdo."

"He seems to take after you."

It was Callie now, but she came from the joint hallway that connected the ICU to the CCU instead. One was intensive care, the other cardiac intensive care. Juliet qualified for either.

"In being a weirdo?" Cristina asked, giving up on that line she had been writing.

Callie nodded, taking the chair beside her and ignoring the dirty look a nurse who had been walking toward it gave her. "So, your kid got some new lungs?"

"Yeah."

"Are we okay?"

Cristina surveyed her, seeing a little vulnerability beyond her nonchalance. It had been rocky between them for a while, after Callie figured out her connection to Adham, but Cristina had overcome that in more ways than one. She had no room to hold a grudge against Callie right now.

"Sure."

"Positive?"

"Yep."

"Sweet. Peace out. Good luck with your kid."

Cristina snorted as the other surgeon departed down the hall. She must have picked today because she thought Cristina might be in a good mood, due to Juliet getting a pair of lungs. She was right. Nothing seemed quite as important as getting her to wake up and be okay again.

It was almost four hours after that, in the middle of a stack of amended contracts, that Lawson skidded out of the CCU room and beckoned her.

"Juliet is awake!"

Cristina marked her page, braced herself, and followed him back inside.

Mrs. Cortez wrapped her in an immediate hug, weeping on her shoulder. Cristina was used to it by now – the Cortez family was fond of hugs – and waited to be released. Mr. Cortez was next in line, his hug briefer and stronger.

The littlest Cortez was lying in bed, her eyes cracked open, a distinct glaze in them. She was breathing easily for the first time in weeks, though her chest was swathed in white bandages and she had over a dozen machines monitoring her vitals. She seemed tranquil. It was like she knew that the worst of it was over – that from now on, it was all about recovery.

She was going to make it.


	40. Hell-proof

**Chapter 40.**

 **Hell-proof.**

 **August 21, 2019.**

Henry seemed so much smaller in the water, when there was no diaper to add bulk to his skinny hips and no jumper to give meat to his underused legs. He had bruises dappling his forehead and back from crawling into things or getting stepped on by his rambunctious older siblings, mingling with the scars on his belly. He would grow into his legs, find a way to navigate the world without his eyes, and his siblings would become more conscientious as they got older, but those scars would always be there. Henry would always be able to feel the parts of his body that had been cut open, and others would always stare when his stomach was exposed.

He was the size of a baby half his age, underweight, with crappy lungs and eyes that had only ever seen the world briefly, in a haze, shortly after he was born. Cristina wondered if his brain had even retained those bits of information.

She bathed him carefully, more like one would bathe a three-month-old baby. It was pleasantly warm in the house, but the water that filled half the sink was much warmer, to the point of being hot, to keep its occupant warm. Henry slapped at the bubbles brushing his belly, his eyes closed as he focused on the sound. But his neck and shoulders chilled moments after she poured water over them, every time, like they were made of ice.

In his chest, his heart was beating more strongly on one side than the other, and occasionally blood would surge backward through his veins and arteries. His body was busy fighting off a cold and so his body temperature was a low priority. He was pitifully cold tonight, which first alerted her that something was wrong – and then she heard him coughing. His lungs sounded like popping bubble wrap and every breath brought a low, rattling wheeze.

Owen returned as Cristina was finishing, holding a bulky, freshly dried blanket in both arms. He had the same look on his face that Cristina did – that tired but determined look that marked their days when their littlest spawn got sick.

"Here," Owen said, setting the blanket on the counter and lifting Henry out of the sink by his underarms. "Can you dry him?"

It was a team effort, getting Henry to conclude a bath. He loved water and would very happily spend his whole day lying in it, but it was awful for him when his temperature was being whacky. If he had been any cleaner this afternoon, Cristina would have put off his bath for days. When he was plucked from the sink, Henry started wailing, and the wailing brought back the coughing. Cristina dried him rapidly, rolling his little arms and legs in a towel, patting his back, scrubbing his hair, and then laid the blanket across her arms and caught him up in it. Henry was coughing so badly at this point that his breathing turned into a desperate wheeze.

Cristina went to the couch with him, holding him upright against her chest, doing her best to soothe him in his panic. He gave up his fight and laid limply against her, his head on her shoulder, coughing or whimpering occasionally, but mostly just wheezing.

It was one of the worst feelings in the world, to sit there and hold him with no way to fix him.

Owen sat beside her, drawing the blanket away and listening to his back with a stethoscope. It was child-sized, with a smaller radius to get a snugger fit against his tiny body. Owen also brought a little device to clamp onto Henry's foot, to keep a measure on his oxygen saturation.

"Crackles, wheezing, all quadrants." Owen took the stethoscope from his ears, letting the end thud against his chest. He ran his hand over his mouth. "He's getting worse."

"I know."

Cristina was only half paying attention to her husband, focusing instead on the little head on her shoulder. His breathing was becoming easier, but it was a slow process. She could feel his heart thrumming against hers, trying – and failing – to compensate for this episode.

"We should take him tonight, just to be safe."

She shook her head as defiantly as she could manage, putting her hand protectively over his back. He has scars there, too, fat pink lines where the surgeons had tried to get better access to his failing digestive system. "I'll stay up with him."

"You have to work tomorrow," Owen objected. "Let me."

"I'll stay up with him," Cristina repeated, with more finality.

Owen sighed, sinking down into the couch beside her. "Do you want the oxygen in here, or in our room?"

"Here."

"Okay." He stood, a cloudy sadness in his eyes. "Should I call Alex?"

Cristina shook her head, "I will, if I need him."

"I have to go soon." Owen checked his watch, and then looked down at the two of them. "I could just call in, if you need me here. Henry needs me here."

"Your patients need you." Cristina found a sharp edge in her voice and tried to dull it. "If both of us stay, we'll just sit here staring at him all night. I can handle it. If I need you, I'll call. If he needs it, I'll drive him there myself. I just… I don't want to expose him to all that if we don't have to."

Owen lingered, looking doubtful.

"Go on. You have a trauma department to run."

She sat there, holding Henry, barely moving, while Owen got ready for work. She almost wanted him to stay, to forget about his responsibilities at work and sit here with his arm around her shoulder. He was warm and safe, but he was also sad. He was afraid for Henry, afraid that this was going to trigger something in Cristina. She could feel his anxiety like a smoke cloud in the room. It would be better to have him at work, so that she, the harder of the two of them, could come at this problem with a clinical mind. She could function as a doctor, not a mother.

He came to kiss her before he left and pressed his lips delicately to the top of Henry's head. "You fight that bug off, little man."

Before he could walk out, Cristina said, "Oh, and Wyatt invited me to dinner."

Owen paused, smirking for the first time in hours, "Sibling bonding?"

"Absolutely not!" She managed to smile, too.

"Are you going?"

"I'm not sure yet."

He put on a more serious face, "He's your brother."

"Half-brother."

"You share blood. Maybe you would end up liking him if you give him a chance."

"No, no. None of that. Wyatt and I will never be friends."

"Why are you so sure of that?"

Cristina said nothing, unsure of that conviction.

Owen came closer, so that he was leaning over her. "What is it, really?"

She had never thought about her repulsion for Wyatt – not enough to come to an answer. But it came to her now, and it made her heart hurt.

"Because he makes me think of my dad."

"But-"

"I know. It's stupid. My parents were already divorced when Dad died. But maybe if…"

Owen gave her a moment, and when it was clear she had nothing left to say, he leaned down to kiss her again, a sweeter, briefer kiss. "None of that is Wyatt's fault. Give him a chance."

When he was gone, the house was unnaturally silent. Cristina had parked the three bigger spawn in one of the bedrooms with a constant stream of cartoons going, just to get some peace to tend to their baby brother, and the lack of screaming and crying told her they were still mesmerized by what they were watching. Collin was probably doing his own thing, but Evelyn and Noah had a thing for bright colors and high-pitched voices.

She had a few minutes to herself, so she slipped outside, bringing Henry with her. He was too tired from his fit to be any trouble. He just laid with her on the porch swing. Cristina took off her shirt and wrapped the blanket around her back, laying Henry on her bare chest to share her heat. He rested, occasionally cooing, regressing to his younger, weaker days.

For a while she just laid there, content, focusing on nothing and everything. She listened to the trees groan in the wind, to the crickets coming out to sing their night song.

But she ended up with her phone to her ear, calling up a friend.

Meredith was having a hectic night. The phone was full of the sound of kids crying and somewhere Derek was giving someone a stern talking to. Meredith answered with a sharp " _what_?" and moved away from the noise, shutting the door on the chaos.

But when she heard that it was Cristina calling, her voice changed to a tired murmur. "Please tell me you're calling to say you want to adopt all of my kids – and maybe my husband."

"I need your opinion on something."

Meredith sighed, disappointed, and said, "Okay."

"Should I go to dinner with Wyatt?"

"Absolutely."

Cristina snorted, "What, are you and Owen in league or something?"

"No, but – Bailey, get off that counter! I swear I will come in there! – you remember how it went for me, with Lexie? If I could go back and give her a chance the moment I met her, I would. But I can't. So, I think you should bond with your brother."

"Half-brother."

"Whatever. A brother is a brother."

"I was hoping you would be disgusted and tell me to stay home."

"I can say that if you need me to."

"No, it's too late. You were already sincere." She hesitated. "I have something else."

Meredith seemed to find a quieter place, perhaps on her own porch. "Hmm?"

"I think that Shane may be Henry's father."

Her friend was unexpectedly silent, and then, "I had a feeling."

Cristina would have jumped dramatically from the swing and fired up the car, heading over to slap her friend right in her stupid face, but the sick baby on her chest stopped her. "What?"

"I saw him the day Henry was born, standing outside the nursery. I had this nagging suspicion, but I really thought Adham was his father, like you did."

Cristina dropped her surprise, settling for frustration. "I feel like this is never going to end."

"It's better that it was him and not a stranger, right? I mean, that's what you were afraid of."

"Yeah, I _guess_. But it's Shane. I mean, Owen already hates him. How long until my badass ex-army husband decides to do something about it?"

"Oh. Owen would eat Shane alive."

"I know."

"And we're opposed to Shane being killed…?"

"Yes. We are." Cristina had been avoiding him lately, but the thought of never seeing Shane again was deeply disturbing. He was one of those fixtures in her life, those relics that could never be moved or the whole foundation would come crumbling down.

"Just making sure."

Cristina smiled, and then the baby shifted, and it hit her. "Henry is sick."

He had been alive for a year and he had a lot of fans. He had a godmother, Meredith, who kept him on her nights off, and a godfather, Alex, who would inherit him if Cristina and Owen and Meredith and Derek were all killed together in a freak accident. He had his fans at the hospital, who had seen him many, many times as little sicknesses brought him to the ICU, and he had Collin, who claimed to 'hate' him but had been caught several times on the baby monitor camera sneaking in to talk to him at night.

Of all those fans, though, and even including Owen, who adored him, no one loved him as much as Cristina did. He had this special draw about him, made up of pieces of her past, of pieces of her best friend, and stitched together. He struggled, but he was strong. His life was about _his_ perseverance, and hers. She staked her recovery on him, her strength. If Henry could do it, so could she. But what if he couldn't do it? What if he failed?

Meredith had known her for a long time and she seemed to hear all of that in her voice at once. It had broken a bit, trembled, vulnerable now that Owen was not here to see it.

"How bad is it?"

"Bad."

"I can be over there in five minutes."

"No. Stay with your kids." Cristina backtracked. "If it comes down to it, I'll take him to the hospital. But I really don't want to."

"I know."

"He was doing so well…" Cristina said, trailing off.

"I know."

It came out of its own volition.

"Meredith, what if he dies?"

"It's just a little bug. He'll be fine. He-"

"No, not tonight. Not tomorrow. What if it gets worse? What if, in a few years, he catches the flu or has an allergic reaction and his immune system just can't handle it? What if he falls on the playground and breaks a bone and goes septic overnight and just _crashes_ before the antibiotics even have a chance to save him?"

Meredith answered immediately, "I'm coming over."

"No, Mer, I mean it. Stay there."

"Owen is working tonight. It's just you and the kids. You need help."

"I can handle it. I mean it, Mer. If you show up I'll lock you out."

Silence.

And then, "If you end up taking him to the hospital, call me."

"I will."


	41. Deserved

**Chapter 41.**

 **Deserved.**

 **August 21, 2019.**

His phone rang in the middle of the night, in the middle of a great dream about a town made entirely out of slices of pizza. His wife groaned and turned over, drawing the pillow over her ears, and he sat straight up in the moonlight, yawning, and answered.

"Someone better be dying."

It was Meredith. "I need you to go over and check on Henry. I was just on the phone with Cristina and she said the baby was sick again but she wouldn't let me come over to help, and I think she's in the really bad place right now – I mean, emotionally, or whatever – and Owen is working and I couldn't get him on his cell so I need you to go check on her."

He waited, trying to make sense of what she said. "Huh?"

Meredith groaned dramatically. "Go check on Cristina."

"Why?"

"Henry is sick."

He groaned, too, dragging himself out of bed and into the bathroom. He looked like a drunk hobo, his eyes barely open, his pupils shrinking away from the onslaught of light.

"Are you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah. Where am I going?"

"Cristina. Sick baby."

"Oh. Right." He yawned, his jaw cramping at the ferocity, and checked the time. "Right now?"

"Right now. Were you really sleeping?"

"Give me a break. I had a long day."

"Just go over there. And call me when you know something."

"Yes, mom."

Meredith snorted and hung up.

He did his best to control his hair in the mirror, but it was getting too long to tame by simply patting down. If he kept letting it grow Cristina would accuse him of having a fluffy Jew-fro again.

Jo pushed the bathroom door open, squinting into the light, "Is everything okay?"

"Henry is sick and Mer wants me to go check on Cristina." He was getting used to brutal honesty again, trying to include Jo in every aspect of his life. She always felt left out when it came to his relationship with Meredith and Cristina.

She yawned, "Okay. I should stay here, right?"

He smiled and kissed her forehead, pushing her gently back toward their bed. "Stay here, lay down, prepare for an epic day in the OR tomorrow."

"Be careful."

He dressed and headed for the door, a little more rushed now that he was really awake. Henry was a sickly kid, born before he was done maturing in the womb, and if there was one thing that could still penetrate that iron wall Cristina built around herself, it was that kid.

But his rush did not stop him from ducking into the nursery and lingering with his daughter. Sarah was sound asleep. She was a quiet baby, fair-skinned, with a dusting of blonde hair and curious, pretty blue eyes. She looked a lot like him when she was pissed, and a lot like Jo when she was laughing. It was his ritual to always get a nice, long look at her before he left the house, just in case he never made it back home again.

It was a nice, warm night and his neighborhood was dark enough to show a sky full of stars. It seemed like a bad night to have a sick baby.

His neighbor, a very old man who drove a little station wagon and kept to himself, was halfway up the stairs, clinging to the railing and panting. Jo had told him the man was called Gary Garner, and he was a veteran of some foreign war. She had tried to get Alex to go over and visit him at least a dozen times.

Now he had no choice. Alex jogged down his steps and up the sidewalk, offering the man his hand. "Hey, do you need some help?"

Gary looked up, surprised, and nodded. He was breathless.

Alex helped him onto the porch, where he took a seat in a flimsy lawn chair. He waited while Gary caught his breath, hoping the man would not have a heart attack right then and there, but he steadily regained his composure.

"Oh, thank you. I used to be able to jog up those steps, you know."

Alex backed halfway down the stairs, "No problem. You okay?"

"Yes, yes."

He left Gary there, but kept him in the rearview mirror until he turned off the road. Jo said the old man reminded her of someone she used to live with when she was a child, so she had a weird affection for him, but he was not a fan of the elderly. His specialty was the exact opposite.

Cristina only lived ten minutes away, maybe less if he didn't get stopped by every red light out of town. Her house was on a large plot of land, with a winding gravel driveway taking it off the road. From the outside, he could see the lights on in the living room, and a glow from one of the bedrooms. His friend was sitting on the front porch with a thick swath of blankets resting on her stomach. He cut the headlights immediately and hopped out.

"Meredith called you. What a traitor."

Alex smiled at her greeting. "So happy to see you Alex. Thanks for driving all the way out here to check on my sick kid. You're such a good friend."

Cristina sat up, frowning, as he reached the porch. "I told her I was fine."

"You always say that. You both do. But it's never true."

He walked up to the swing and looked down at the baby in the blankets. Henry looked far paler than usual and the rasp in his breathing was obvious without a stethoscope.

Cristina looked down at him, too. "I don't want him back in the hospital."

"Let me check him out."

He ended up inside, with the baby laying on the kitchen table. Henry coughed ferociously when he was laid flat, indicating fluid gathering in his lungs, and his heart sounded crappier than usual. His hands and feet were a little colder than his body, he was clammy, and his usually bright brown eyes were dim. Cristina must have seen all these signs.

"He needs to go to the hospital," Alex said, wrapping the boy back up and cradling him at an angle that helped him breathe better.

Cristina crossed her arms, appearing quite vulnerable. "I can't…"

"Hey, you gotta stop thinking like that." He knew what was on her mind. He had seen it in the eyes of dozens of parents as they contemplated losing their children. It hurt much more to see it in her. "He just needs some more extensive monitoring, just to be on the safe side. You know that."

She nodded but seemed unconvinced. She choked out a question. "What if he dies, Alex?"

It was strange, how close he had become with someone he used to loathe. Cristina had been so cold and detached when they met, a lot like him, but the years and the flames of their life at the hospital had welded them together. She was there at his mother's funeral, her arms looped into his, the silent company that made it bearable. He was there when her world was falling apart, when her husband was losing his mind and she had no one else to talk to. She was one of his soft spots, a dent in his armor, and seeing her like this made him forget how strong he wanted to be.

He set the baby down and stepped up to Cristina, testing her by putting his hand on her shoulder, and then drawing her into a hug. He held her for several seconds while she stood stiffly, and it almost seemed that she would pull away, but she suddenly held him back.

For all her fear, Cristina did not cry. She just wrapped her arms around his neck and took long, deep breaths, and whispered a confession.

"If he dies… there is no me."

Alex knew how unhealthy the baby was, so her words sent a jolt through him. She had never sounded more serious, more decided. It was like she was calmly announcing the weather or explaining a surgery to an intern. It was morbid and horrible, and he never wanted to hear it again.

She finally pulled away, letting her hands fall down to his elbows. Her eyes were hard. "Okay. I'll call Owen. Can you take him to the hospital?"

"Aren't you coming?"

"I have to stay with the kids." Cristina seemed awfully clinical about it, which worried him, but this was no time to question her about it. "Besides, if he goes, he'll be in for a while. You know that. I'll see him when I go in tomorrow."

Alex watched as she made the call, debating with himself. He had never been the best at handling delicate situations. He helped her pack a bag for Henry and waited on the steps as she held him on the front porch. She said nothing to him, no goodbyes, but just stood silently staring into his face. Alex wondered what she saw in him – a dying child, a hope for herself, a mistake she made?

She handed Henry over at last, and hugged Alex again, lighter this time.

"Be careful with him."

"Of course."

Alex had a sick feeling as he strapped the baby into his car. Henry was almost smaller than his daughter, but older. He had to adjust the straps on the car seat. He felt oddly like he was taking the boy away from home for the last time as he drove off, though he knew that was a horrible way to think. Henry was not _that_ bad off. Cristina was reacting as if he were dying, though, and the idea started sinking into Alex as well. What if he died? What would happen to her family? He had helped his friends suffer through losing their loved ones before, but never a child.

He was not ready for that. He would never be ready for that.

He was halfway to the hospital when he decided to turn around.

He parked in her driveway and found her standing on the front porch, her arms still crossed, like he had only just driven away. Alex sat there with the car running for several seconds before he could make himself get out, and then he walked across the yard, yawning, and wrapped her up in another hug. He held on tightly this time, for longer, and whispered,

"If he dies, I'll make _damn_ sure there's still a you. I promise."

Cristina nodded into his shoulder.

He stood there for longer this time, until he could convince himself that he could live up to that promise. There were a few people in this world he was never going to give up on, and she was one of them.

This time when he left for the hospital, he didn't turn back.

"What could you have possibly done to deserve this?" Alex asked, more to himself than to the baby. "What did _she_ do? I mean, we all mess up. We all suck sometimes." He gripped the steering wheel, making the plastic groan. "Nobody deserves this. Sick kids. Especially not her. I know she can be harsh sometimes, but she just says what everybody else is too scared to say. She just… she lost her way. We all do that. We all do." He glanced in the rearview mirror, at the curly-haired little boy who he had helped save after his birth in France. "You have to make it, kid. You just have to. For your mom, for me, for Meredith… just live, okay?"

Alex knew that this would become his case, because Henry was a past patient of his. He had helped stabilize those tiny baby guts after his premature birth. Cristina would want him on the case, and there was no way Arizona would turn him down if he asked for it. But he hoped that this would not turn surgical, that Henry would fight this virus off on his own.

He did not want to cut that kid again.


	42. The Request

**Chapter 42.**

 **The Request.**

 **August 25, 2019.**

Cristina rested her head in her hands over a big pile of incomplete paperwork, feeling no uncertain dread every time she imagined getting started on it. One of her trials was due to start soon, the first entirely of her design since she started at the PCRC, and the mountains of legal paperwork and charting for each patient seemed criminal. She would be working with children with a spectrum of degenerative valve disorders – and she would be doing it alone. She was still avoiding speaking to Shane, her former best friend, her protégé.

If they were still friends, he would have made this paperwork much more bearable.

Her sulking was interrupted by a knock on the door, and she expected Shane to be on the other side of it. He had been reaching out a lot lately, trying to apologize, hoping she would forget his intimate betrayal and let him back into her life.

But it was not his voice that spoke.

"Dr. Yang?"

She jumped up, almost knocking her chair over in her haste. "Yes, yes, sorry. Come in."

Oliver Brightly came into her office. He was a vision in a soot-black suit, over six feet tall, with locks of golden blonde hair in a disorderly pile atop his head. He was one of the greatest modern surgeons, a revolutionary thinker who had conceived the Pearlman Centers and dotted the States with them before he was even forty years old. She had been to dinner with him once, discussed her trials with him in plain English, but he was still absolutely dazzling to her. It was impossible not to be star struck. Oliver was magnetic.

He strode up to her, shook her hand, smiled that beautiful smile of his, and took a seat in one of the chairs by her desk, propping his feet up.

"How have you been, Cristina?"

She took a seat behind her desk, fiddling with her paperwork. "Um, fantastic."

He snorted. "You sound so convincing."

Cristina had seen Oliver last about ten days ago, and it seemed that her whole life had been turned upside down since then. She now knew that her colleague, the new neurosurgeon at Grey-Sloan, was not the father of her son Henry. She knew that Shane was his father – knew it in a sickening, burning kind of way – and she had given up their friendship because of it. Henry had been in the hospital for four days, fighting a respiratory bug that hit his underdeveloped immune system like a truck. Everything felt different.

Oliver plucked a plastic model of a heart from the corner of her desk, toying with it. "Your SGD trials start soon, but you never submitted a request for an assisting doctor."

"I plan to do it alone."

"Your other trials were all with Dr. Ross." Oliver glanced at her, testing her reaction, and nodded to himself. "But it's your decision. Definitely. I just wanted to come by and see if everything was going alright with you."

"It is. I'm fine." Cristina tipped her chair toward the window, where she could look out at the parking lot.

"Good. I also wanted to ask if I could meet your son, Collin."

Cristina looked straight back at him, surprised. "Why?"

"Marcus Planter is a good friend of mine. He had an interesting conversation with our mutual friend, Garret, who told him about Collin. Marcus came to me because of my experience with behavioral science, and when I found out that he was your son… I want to meet him. I think I might be able to get him to start talking again."

His words made no sense for a moment, and then it all clicked together at once. She was guilty, because Collin had been the last thing on her mind today, between Henry being in the hospital and her broken friendship with Shane. She had forgotten about her talks with Owen, how he was reaching out to other doctors through Derek to try and find someone who could help their oldest son. She could only manage, "Um, okay."

"Great." He pulled a scrap of paper from his suit pocket and laid it on top of her paperwork. It was an address, written in excellent, elegant script. "Bring him to my house tomorrow. And take the rest of the afternoon off. I heard your other son was in the hospital. Go and be with him."

Again, she could only say, "Um, okay."

Oliver stood, straightened his suit, and smiled that brilliant smile again. He was more like a boy than a man sometimes. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He left, and Cristina sat in stunned silence for a while. Oliver was one of her idols, the idol above all idols, the head of a medical dynasty that would no doubt be taught to upcoming medical students for decades to come – and she was supposed to just show up at his house tomorrow. She took the scrap of paper, tucked it into her pocket, and left her paperwork lying unfinished on the desk.

XxX

"He just… invited you over?"

"Yeah."

"Is he… hitting on you?"

"I have no freaking idea. Seriously. He is hands down the most prolific surgeon of this century – if he wants me to come over and have a tea party with him, I'm going."

Owen smiled, "Should I be worried?"

"Oh, definitely. I would leave you for him in a heartbeat."

Her husband twisted his lips. "If you get arrested for pouncing on Oliver Brightly, I'm not bailing you out of jail. I'm gonna let you sit there and think about what you've done."

Cristina laughed, and then yawned, catching the flailing hand that was heading for her face. Henry settled with fiddling with her rings. "If you want to come and supervise, I could use the backup. I need someone to constantly close my jaw when he talks about medicine."

"I have to work. But I think you should take backup."

"Can your mom pick up the kids?"

"I'll give her a call." He stood up, leaning over to kiss Henry, and to give her a gentle squeeze. "You staying here for a while?"

"Yep."

It was their routine now that one of them was always at the hospital with Henry, working or not. Owen had the night off, so he would get the kids from daycare and take them home. Cristina would stay overnight with Henry until Owen came in the following morning. She would leave for the PCRC, he would check in at every opportunity. Right now, their lives revolved around making sure their son did not feel abandoned while he spent his days under close monitor.

Owen left, and she stayed.

She laid in bed and held Henry, playing with him, letting him laugh and giggle and then calming him when the coughing became too much. She let him rest his head on her chest as the fever took hold, as it did most nights, and rubbed the sweat from his skin with a soft towel.

Henry was easy to talk to. He was like Collin, listening without understanding.

"Your big brother might finally get the help he needs," she said, stroking Henry's damp hair down with one hand. His breathing was raspy. "I have this very handsome boss – you've never met him – who thinks he might be able to help. I should probably thank Derek. But you never thank people too early. It could still work out to be nothing. I could be walking into a murder house, or a weird adult tea party. He could be trying to sell me timeshares."

Cristina tried to sit her son up, but Henry whined until he was lying flat on her chest again.

She ran her hand along his back, and whispered, "So if your big brother can get better, so can you. You have to be strong now. You gotta kick some virus ass, okay?"

He was quiet.

"You just work on that, and I'll work on this, buddy."


	43. The Playroom

**Chapter 43.**

 **The Playroom.**

 **August 26, 2019.**

Cristina drew another card, frowning. "I need a run of seven?"

"Seven," Juliet confirmed, drawing her own card and grinning. Her cheeks crinkled grotesquely, but she had finally stopped wincing. "Saying it six hundred times won't make you get one."

"You're so sassy today. I like it."

It was nearing the end of her shift and she should have been doing a dozen other things, but there was nothing quite like spending the last thirty minutes of her day entertaining her favorite patient. Juliet was snarky, bold, and intelligent, which gave Cristina a break from mending the hearts of fat old men and teenage daredevils. Juliet was the first complex case she had been allowed to handle on her own since coming back – the head of cardio, Maggie Pierce, was still determined to make her life at the hospital miserable. But all the fat old men in the world would never dampen her time with Juliet. It was a complicated and simple case.

It was also therapeutic for Juliet, because not many people aside from her primary doctors could look at her disfigured face without giving some kind of reaction. Her burns were profound, worsening when her skin grafts refused to take. Just two days ago Juliet had smashed all the mirrors in her room, cutting up her hands and worrying her parents.

Both of them benefited from their afternoon together, and neither of them talked about the real problems in their lives. It was just them and the cards, no one else.

"So, who are you going to visit tonight?"

Cristina frowned, drawing another card. "Hmm?"

"You asked Dr. Grey to check on me this morning and you were on the phone with her. She was standing outside my room. She thought I was asleep."

Cristina snorted, "You should mind your own business."

"You _are_ my business. Come on. I have nothing else to do here but be nosy."

"We could bring in some more mirrors for you to smash."

Juliet twisted her skinless lips, fanning herself with her cards. "It sounded important, is all."

"Well, it was. But it was still none of your business."

"I just thought… well, I know you work at that other hospital…"

Cristina knew what she was getting at, without much detail. There was no mistaking the sad look in her big brown eyes. "Hey, perk up. I'm not going anywhere. I'll still be here in the morning."

"You promise?"

"I promise. Unless this guy I'm meeting murders me and buries me in his yard."

A male voice spoke from the doorway.

"We can only hope."

Cristina drew another card and flicked it at Alex, aiming for his face, but only managing to hit the trashcan with an impressive thudding sound. He smirked at it.

"Jules, I got you tonight, as soon as Yang decides to get a move on."

"Hey, I have four minutes." Cristina prepared another card to throw at him but gave up. "You know what? You're not worth my four of clubs."

Juliet giggled. She liked their banter. "Do you know who she's meeting tonight?"

Alex cocked an eyebrow, stepping inside. "Who?"

"I was hoping you would know," the girl shrugged.

"None of your business. Either of you." Cristina got up, stretching her legs off the bed one at a time and handing her cards to Alex. "You need a run of seven. Good luck."

"Whoa, whoa, what about this secret meeting?"

"It's _not_ a secret meeting, and it's none of your business."

Alex followed her out into the hall, looking through his newly acquired hand. "As one of your only two friends, I think it's my business. Is it a dude? Are you cheating on Owen?"

"Yes, and no. It's… well, Oliver Brightly."

Alex stopped all at once, staring at her open-mouthed. " _The_ Oliver Brightly? Are you freaking kidding me?"

"No." Cristina found a strange satisfaction in his shocked look. "He invited me to his house. I have the address and everything."

"If you're cheating on Owen with Oliver Brightly I want you to know I approve."

She put her hand on his shoulder, steering him back toward Juliet's room. "Seriously, it's nothing. Go entertain the kid."

Alex groaned. "Women get all the advantages. If I had a pair of-"

"And this is where our conversation ends. Goodnight, Alex."

"Hey, try not to get murdered."

Cristina saluted him on her way down the hall, glad when he went back into Juliet's room. For some reason she didn't want him to know that she was taking Collin to be evaluated during this secret meeting. She couldn't put her finger on why. Alex knew that Collin had problems. She reasoned it was just her brain trying to protect her, to keep her from getting too hopeful about this offer. What could he really do for Collin that Derek hadn't tried already?

She let her doubts compile as she drove Collin out of town, following her GPS to a lonely road between two gilded statues. The road was called 'Brightly Lane.'

It took her deep into the woods, up a few hills, and past what looked like an orchard out of season. She was all alone out here, so she unbuckled Collin and let him crawl into her lap. He gazed out the windows, one hand clenched into her shirt, showing his uncertainty.

"Remember what we talked about?" Cristina said, as the forest and orchard ended, and they came upon an empty, sprawling lawn with a mansion in the distance. "Mommy's friend wants to meet you and maybe talk to you a little."

His house was magnificent. It reminded Cristina of the house Phyllis Danforth had owned in Switzerland. It was three stories, with four columns up the front and stone stairs leading to a double front door. It seemed old, too, and some of the windows on the top floor were boarded up. As large as it was, it had only one car parked near the stairs, a modest, late model Sudan.

Cristina parked beside it.

"Nothing too serious. Just driving up to a murder house."

She stepped out, first noticing how fresh the air was in her lungs. Collin clung to her as they made their way up to the steps.

Cristina stopped at the front door, wondering if the old iron knockers were really meant to be used.

But the door opened before she could make a decision.

"You have got to be kidding me," Cristina blurted, as they were greeted by a man in a striking black suit. He had to be a butler. She promptly put her hand over her mouth.

The man smiled. "Dr. Yang?"

"Uh, yes."

"Welcome. I can show you to the living room."

She followed him inside, into the most expensive house she had probably ever been within a hundred feet of, and barely had time to lay her eyes on all the antique decorations before they were passing into a small, homey living room. It was much more modern than the entryway, with a flat screen television, sleek couches, and a bookshelf stuffed with thick medical texts.

"Mr. Brightly will be with you momentarily," the butler said as he departed.

"He has a butler," Cristina whispered to Collin, who stayed firmly in her lap. "We should get a butler. We should get a butler and name him Jeeves."

Collin was busy looking around the room, his hand like a vice on her shirt.

"Odd name choice."

Cristina jumped as Oliver Brightly came around the corner, his arms folded politely behind his back and a winning smile on his face. She could never quite get over how handsome he was, so every time she saw him she got that same girly jolt. He looked remarkably like an older version of her son, too, and that gave her a second jolt. She had never seen him and Collin in the same room, but they both had heads of curly white-blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes.

He talked to her like a friend, coming to shake her hand and draw her off the couch. "Glad you could make it. I was worried you would miss the driveway."

"I never knew this place existed," Cristina admitted. "Right beside Seattle."

"It's been here for a long time. It was built during the Washington gold rush, as a sort of plantation to sustain a family who migrated here from the south – my family. It failed miserably, because my ancestors couldn't afford slaves or seeds." Oliver smiled, motioning the hallway he had come from. "Please, this way."

Cristina followed, beginning to feel like she had landed in the plot of a bad horror film. Oliver led her down a hallway full of portraits, some landscapes of rivers and valleys, others depicting families standing in solemn poses. She lingered on the last one, a color photograph, which depicted a little boy at the sitting cross-legged at the feet of his parents, who looked far less grim than every other generation to live in this house.

Oliver stopped with her, pointing to the other kids in the picture. "You read my biography. Do you know who they are?"

She raked her brain, and then said, "Your cousins. Your parents took them in."

"We had plenty of room and plenty of room. I think my parents were probably the first generation that didn't rely solely on the orchards and farming to survive."

"Did your mother ever meet Ellis Grey?"

Oliver laughed, "Oh, yes. Once or twice. But they were opposites. Mom was… warm. She was a rebel in the medical field – a woman challenging young men for their place in surgery internships. Sometimes people would drive up to the house and throw rocks through the windows."

"I don't think that ever happened to Ellis Grey."

"Mom was different. I think that bothered them more." Oliver made a face, and went on walking, leading her up a narrow staircase. "Mom was smart and talented, but still very soft and compassionate. She loved kids and animals and advocated for hopeless patients. People were threatened that this 'girly' woman was going to ruin the integrity of their field. Ellis Grey would have hated her, if she had known her long enough to have an opinion."

Cristina could not miss his implications. He was young, and he only spoke of his parents in the past tense. His mother had not gone on to be famous like Ellis Grey – she had died while her son was still a boy, and all the potential had died with her.

"But the point stands. I was raised with a lot of other kids, like your son, and I took an early interest in how people develop."

Oliver stopped at a room near the back of the house, down a wooden hallway with muted oil paintings on the walls. He opened the door for her and stepped aside. Cristina hesitated again, uncertain about this whole thing, but it was too late to back down. She stepped inside.

It was a playroom, but one unlike anything she had ever seen. It was full of foam toys in chalky colors, large sections of mats bolted to the floors and walls, soft ladders leading up to lofts in the ceiling, and lush carpeting throughout. Most of the toys were made of geometric shapes, with no recognizable characters. No trucks or dolls.

Oliver slipped past her, motioning around. "Put him down."

Cristina set Collin down, and the boy clung to her leg.

"Come on. You can play with it." Oliver stepped onto one of the mats, picking up a foam triangle and tossing it toward the wall. It rebounded and bounced around for a while.

And, like magic, Collin stepped forward. He was a little wobbly on his bad leg and the foam made it worse, but he seemed determined to get to that triangle. He stretched out a hand and ran his fingers along the walls, making a coarse sound, and then reached his prize and threw it like Oliver had. One at a time, he explored the toys in the room, growing more confident each time he touched something new. He climbed into one of the lofts and disappeared in a maze of hanging black sheets.

Oliver came to stand by her side, his arms crossed. "I made this room as part of my research into children with low latent inhibition."

Cristina was busy trying to find her son among those black sheets. "Sorry, what?"

"Low latent inhibition. I'm sure you're familiar with latent inhibition."

She turned her attention to him, supplying a mechanical medical school answer, "We ignore most details around us in order to process them faster. Our brains use shortcuts based on other familiar stimuli – like opening doors and ignoring how the handles look."

"Right. Children with low latent inhibition are unable to ignore slight differences in things that are otherwise exactly the same. Collin processes every applicable detail instead of only the details key to what he is currently doing. In many people, if this this goes unnoticed it can cause learning disabilities and behavioral problems, but I think that result avoidable."

"I still don't…?"

"If a normal child sees his mother every day, he stops noticing the day-to-day differences in her. He sees one familiar stimuli – mother – and fails to process many other minute details. But when Collin sees you, he sees the differences in you each day. He sees how you do your hair, how tired you look, what outfit you're wearing. He thinks as much as a four-year-old can – why are you tired? Are you upset? Are you in a hurry? Is it time to play? Time to leave? Where were you before and where are you going now? These things rarely occur to other children his age."

Cristina glanced up at the curtains again, noticing movement, but no kid. "You're saying he has a… processing disorder? Neurological?"

"Yes."

Cristina had only one thing on her mind at this point. She would look into this condition later, blame herself, blame his biological mother. But right now, just now, she could only find one concern.

"Can you help him?"

"I can try."


	44. Breathless

**Chapter 44.**

 **Breathless.**

 **August 26, 2019.**

"Were you waiting for me?"

Cristina groaned as she finally set her hefty surgical manual down. It was nearly ten pounds and made of thin, fragile pages, and it was making the muscles in her forearms ache. Owen was home. He came into the room quietly, probably expecting her to be asleep, and smiled when he saw her sitting up in bed. But that smile turned into a curious frown.

"I've never seen that book before."

"Oliver Brightly let me borrow it." Cristina ran her hand over the cover, which was dry and cracked, with a spiderweb of hot glue running through it to keep the binding intact. "His mother helped author some of the procedures – including the precursor to the first pediatric bypass."

Owen pulled his scrub top over his head, fluffing up his hair in the mirror. "So, I take it your meeting went well."

"It did." Cristina set the book on her bedside table, her eyes lingering on the damaged cover. She wondered if Oliver had been the one to glue it back together. "He thinks… Well, he knows what might be wrong with Collin."

Her husband paused, waiting.

"Low Latent Inhibition. Have you ever heard of it?"

"I think so. In a TV show."

"Yeah, well, turns out it's real." She didn't like his tone, but it was hard to feel anything negative toward him when he was in the middle of taking his clothes off. "He's been studying it for years, and he wants to try and help Collin get back to normal."

Owen glanced back, noticing her attention, and smiled, "Is that all he wanted?"

"Oh, he was a complete gentleman. I might have let my hands wander."

He shook his head, feigning disappointment. "I thought we had something special."

"If you met him, you would understand. Young, hot, ridiculously intelligent."

"So, you want to trade me in for a younger model?"

Cristina hopped up, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind to press a kiss to his shoulder. "Mmm. I prefer experience."

He twisted in her arms, bringing them face-to-face, and leaned into a gentle kiss. He always managed to burn the fire out of her, to turn it into smoldering affection. But he could bring it back as well. He ran one hand down her arm, raising goosebumps on her skin, and made the short jump to her waist. And then he ruined it.

"I want to take Collin camping, with Derek and Bailey."

"Is that really what you're thinking about right now?" Cristina whined, leaning closer to his chest and kissing his chin. "I don't wanna talk about Derek."

"I think it would be good for him to spend a little time with me."

"Agreed. Now take your pants off."

Owen laughed, and someone knocked at the door.

Cristina debated with herself, really considering letting them stand out there indefinitely, but her career and her complicated friends would not allow it. She kissed Owen one more time, sent him off to the shower, and dragged her feet all the way to the front door.

It was her half-brother, Wyatt.

She checked the time, making sure she wasn't crazy, and opened the door.

Wyatt stepped right in like he'd been invited, glancing around with that usual jumpy nervousness he had. He was tall and thin, black-haired, only half-Korean but with a distinguished slant to the corners of his eyes. He looked a lot like her, but the similarities ended there.

"Weird time to visit," Cristina said.

He turned toward her, and she noticed for the first time how red his eyes were. "Mom wants us to come to California for a few days."

Her chest clenched, reacting to the news she felt coming. She didn't like the look on his face. She didn't like how nervous he seemed. "Why?"

"She has cancer. Breast cancer."

She was immediately, strangely, relieved. She even laughed. Her mother was a hypochondriac and she craved attention. She said, "She's probably just being dramatic. You know how she is."

"It's real. We have to go," Wyatt insisted, his voice shaking.

It was easy to see that her lack of concern was freaking him out, so she steadied her tone and forced her expression to be neutral. "Wyatt-"

"What if she dies?" he interrupted.

She had recently said something just like that about her youngest son, and so she knew how it felt to ask that question. If anyone else had said it, she might have hugged them, but her relationship with her brother was strange and alien. She drifted toward him but could not make herself reach out. He was overreacting, anyway. Wasn't he?

Before she could say anything else, Wyatt turned and left, hopping into his still-running car and driving off into the night. Cristina stood there looking out the open door, baffled.

She shut down the house and went back into the bedroom, for lack of any other options, sitting on the end of the bed until Owen came out of the shower. He was still in his towel, still surrounded by the steam leaving the doorway, when she said, "It was Wyatt. He says my mom has cancer."

Owen came straight to her, "What? Where is he?"

"He left." Cristina motioned toward the door and laid back on the bed. "I don't want you freaking out about this. My mother is… difficult. She's probably overreacting – or lying. She does that."

"What are you going to do?"

"Wyatt said she wants us to go to California."

"You should go, then."

Cristina sat up, frowning. "Are you kidding?"

"No. I wouldn't kid about that."

"Owen, I don't have time to go to California right now. I have trial paperwork, and Juliet, and Henry is still in the hospital."

"You can make time for this." Owen started dressing, wearing a stubborn expression that really irritated her. "It's your mom."

"It's my annoying, hypochondriac mother, who's probably fine."

"What if she isn't?"

"She has Saul."

"She wants you."

Cristina groaned. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I am on your side. Always." Owen turned, leaning against the dresser with his shirt still folded in his hands. "If you don't go, and something happens to her, you'll never forgive yourself."

"She's _fine_ ," Cristina repeated.

"How sure are you?"

She stared him down, and then relented, realizing there was no way to win this particular argument. He had a close relationship with his mother and he thought that everyone else should, too. He saw the world differently and nothing could change that.

And there was this nagging doubt that something might really be wrong.

"I'll have to take a few days off work."

"I think the hospital will survive without you."

"You have to spend a lot more time with Henry. Every day. Make sure he knows I didn't abandon him."

Owen came to sit beside her, "Of course."

She was going over the plans in her head, growing more frustrated every second. "For all this trouble she better be on her deathbed."

Owen leaned over, kissed her cheek, and squeezed her knee, "Come to bed."

"No. Now I have to make plans. You go to bed." Cristina stood, snatched her phone from the dresser, and made for the door. She paused before she could get too far. "Goodnight."

"Night."

It was pleasantly warm outside. Cristina sat in the porch swing and hugged her knees, trying to decide who she was going to call. It was too late to talk to the hospital, too late to call most of her friends. Everyone was asleep, dreaming peacefully, unburdened by the stupidity currently plaguing her life. Could her mother have picked a worse time to pull the cancer card?

She ended up calling Meredith.

Her friend answered sleepily. "Cristina?"

"Hey, Mer."

A mattress groaned. "Hey, what's up?"

She cleared her throat, uncertain of what she could say.

Meredith's voice came again, softer this time, "You okay?"

She shook her head, though she knew Meredith couldn't see her. Her words came out garbled because she was absolutely breathless. "Everyone around me just keeps trying to die."

She heard murmuring, the sound of Derek waking up, the sound of a lamp flickering on. "What's wrong? Who's dying?"

"It's my mom."

She talked to Meredith for hours that night. When it came to Wyatt and Owen, she knew that her mother was lying, knew that she was being dramatic and that everything was fine, but when it came to Meredith, when it came to her _best friend_ , everything was different. She was suddenly uncertain. She let her fears show. She felt silly being upset about this, because she had lived without her mom for so many years – but living apart was different than dying. It was _different_.

"When my mom was first diagnosed, I was in denial," Meredith said, sometime after midnight had come and gone. "I mean, how could someone strong like that…? Well, anyway, it's natural, is what I'm saying. She's your mom."

"I have to go to California."

"Yeah, you do."

Cristina rested her head on the back of the porch swing, wishing she could see the stars from here. "I should go to bed."

"Yeah, you should."

She smiled, hanging up the phone but staying right where she was. Meredith was the only one she really wanted advice from in all of this, and that answer was clear. She had to go.


	45. Details

**Chapter 45.**

 **Details.**

 **August 27, 2019.**

"Mom is over seventy – at that age the risk of getting breast cancer is nearly 1 in 27."

Wyatt was tall and gangly, barely changing since he hit puberty and grew three feet taller than their poor, tiny mother. He was shaped more like his father, Saul, and yet his face was distinctly like hers. He had those almond-shaped eyes, that serious resting expression, that milky skin tone. He was as poor at socialization as anyone she had ever met – he talked over himself, stuttered, occasionally lost his train of thought only to pick it up in a different part of the conversation. But despite all of these oddities, she had heard he was a good surgeon.

She had to force herself to respect that side of him, because the rest of him was a mess. He had been distraught the night before, but now he was bordering on manic. He started spouting breast cancer facts the moment they were seated and kept nervously rearranging his napkin in his lap. He made her think of a teenage boy, and that thought repulsed her.

"I think you were looking at American statistics-" Cristina began.

"Oh, no. I was. But the statistics for Koreans are even worse. Did you know breast cancer is increasing in prevalence within the Korean-American population?"

Cristina groaned. "I want to make this clear to you – Mom lies. She does."

"Why would she lie about something like this?"

"Because she's crazy!" Cristina stared at him, hoping for something other than disbelief. "Seriously, you lived with her for eighteen years and you never thought she was crazy?"

"She can be… overbearing. But she's not crazy. She sounded so scared on the phone."

Cristina pushed her spaghetti around the plate, huffing.

"Why didn't you ever come home to visit?"

She looked up at the complete change of direction, finding Wyatt staring at her intently. Or maybe this was right in line with what they had been talking about. "Mom and I… let's just say it works better when there are a few states between us."

Wyatt watched her for a moment more, and then stared down at his plate. "Dad was never home much. He worked a lot. Mom made it hard to do anything. I never had any friends. It was hard to go out, to have hobbies. She thought I was gonna leave, like you."

Cristina winced. She had never cared if her mom missed her, only that she was getting what she wanted out of life. She got her education, got her internship, and everything just rolled on from there. She was not the type to look back, not the type to feel homesick. It seemed that Wyatt was different. He talked about home with a reverence she could only feel for her early intern days, when it felt like the world was still new. She had to remind herself that he was younger.

"What was your dad like?"

She looked back up at his softened tone, wishing he would move on to a less awkward conversation, but also suddenly curious about his life. He must have asked their mother that question and gotten that thousand-yard stare in response. Was his life really so different from hers? Had their mother mellowed out when it came to her second child?

Cristina tugged on old memories of her father, the earliest she could recall. "He was… warm."

Wyatt sat waiting, silent.

"Uh, he was a dad, I don't know. We used to go out for ice-cream on the boardwalk and he would let me sit on the railing." She remembered it, a fuzzy, warm spot in her early life. She was sitting on the warm railing of a boardwalk in California, looking out over the ocean as the sun set, her father's hands on her shoulders. She wished she could hear what he was saying.

"How did he die?" Wyatt interrupted her memory. "Mom would never tell me."

Cristina released a pent-up breath, realizing memories of her father had made her happy for once, instead of sad. "We were in a car accident. I was fine, but he was hurt really badly."

He waited again, dark eyes – _her_ eyes – fixated on her face.

"That was actually what made me want to be a surgeon."

He nodded to himself, like he had finally found the answer to some great, lifelong riddle, and then said, "I wanted to be a surgeon because of you."

"What? Why?"

Cristina had barely met him as a child. She remembered a long-limbed kid stalking her on holidays, a name mentioned on the rare occasions she would call home, but nothing solid enough to become a role model for him.

He looked down at his lap, shrugging, "Mom talked about you all the time, to anyone who would listen. She was so proud. I wanted her to talk about me like that."

Cristina snorted, and Wyatt looked up sharply, a little hurt. She put her hand over her mouth. "No, not… I just have a hard time believing mom praised me."

"She did."

She stared down at her spaghetti, which she hadn't even taken a bite of, and felt a weird sense of responsibility settle on her shoulders. She knew she had inspired people before, but somehow this was different. Wyatt was her blood. Her father had inspired her, and she had inspired Wyatt. It was poetic, and tragic, and sort of wonderful.

"You're coming with me, right?"

Cristina cleared her throat. "To California? Yeah. Yeah, I am."

XxX

 **August 28, 2019.**

Juliet was starting to reject the skin grafts on her face – again – so she looked like a mess that morning. Cristina waited by her bedside while one of her residents applied a layer of antibiotic cream to the angry red skin, knowing the grafts would simply peel away by the end of the day. It was good practice for Lawson, though, and it soothed the burning for Juliet. She could have been moved to a burn unit the night before, but Cristina rejected the transfer. Her skin was just not as important as her lungs, and no amount of scarring could be worse than respiratory arrest.

"Is that enough?" Lawson asked Cristina, hovering with his applicator stick.

She surveyed the work, the thick layer that settled like shaving cream on the girl's face, and nodded, "Yep. Maybe a little less next time. Go wash your hands."

While he stepped into the bathroom, she sat on the bed, looking into the tired eyes of her patient. Juliet had not been sleeping much. She was worried about her family. Her father had been fired for his absences and he was having a hard time finding work. Her mother was picking up extra shifts to cover the cost of their house.

"I have to go away for a few days," Cristina said. "But Alex will be here to keep you company."

Juliet stared at her, saying nothing.

"Are you mad at me?" Cristina asked.

Juliet nodded.

"You can be mad at me. That's fine." Cristina stood up, fluffing her pillows. "But when I get back, you and me are friends again. Deal?"

Juliet sort of smiled, but the cream obscured the expression.

"Okay. Sit up for a few more minutes and then hit that button to call Dr. Madison back in. I give you permission to harass him as much as you want while I'm gone. He is your whipping boy."

This time the smile was more obvious. "How long will you be gone?"

"Shouldn't be more than a few days. Don't miss me too much."

Outside, her co-doctor on this case was leaning against the wall. He looked tired, too, but his exhaustion stemmed from having a young daughter. It was a happy kind of tired.

"You're really throwing Owen to the dogs, huh?"

She scowled at him as they made their way down the hall. "His mother is staying at the house for a few days to look after Henry. He's getting discharged."

"I know." Alex opened the door to the lounge for her. "I discharged him."

"Right. Do me a favor and keep an eye on my interns."

"Will do."

"And look in on Henry, when he's with Owen's mom. I know she was a nurse and all, but Henry can take a turn really suddenly."

"I will."

Cristina flopped down onto the couch, stretching out to take up the whole thing. She shut her eyes for a moment, running through the procedure for the valve replacement she was going to do in the coming hours. It was soothing, to review something so trivial.

"You okay?"

"Hmm?" She opened one eye and found Alex crouching beside the couch. "What?"

"You must be overwhelmed by all of this, happening all at once."

She put her hand over her mouth. "Sorry, I just threw up in my mouth a little."

Alex laughed, moving her legs and taking up the end of the couch. "I'm trying to be a real friend here. Can you be serious for thirty seconds?"

"Ugh. Fine. No. I'm not overwhelmed. I'm pissed off."

"Pissed off that your mom has cancer?"

"Pissed off that my mom _thinks_ she has cancer and I have to fly all the way to California to deal with it."


	46. Mother Dearest

**Chapter 46.**

 **Mother Dearest.**

 **September 1, 2019.**

 **Beverly Hills, California.**

It was a small room, dry and plain, what you might expect from a guestroom. When her father died, Cristina underwent a metamorphosis. She ripped all her celebrity posters off the walls, threw away her dolls, and begged her mother to repaint the room a bland, cubicle beige. She filled it with reference texts from her stepfather's practice and hid all the things that reminded her of her old self – except for the pictures. She kept them in an album under her side table, and there they had stayed, untouched for the last forty years. Her mother had not even been curious.

Collin was already making himself at home, tossing things out of her suitcase and looking for the toys she had packed him – sent over by Oliver Brightly, of all people. They were his prototypes, foam bars and patterned discs that Collin liked to rearrange.

She pulled out the bag and handed it to him, letting him sit under the window and tap his toys on the glass. She wondered if he even cared they were so far from home.

"You're a weird kid, you know that?" Cristina said.

Saul appeared in the doorway, like he was summoned by her voice. "Getting settled?"

Cristina smiled – much more than she had done when her mom had answered the door to ask her why she was late. "Yeah. It's weird being back here."

"But it's nice having you back." He shook her hand and glanced over at Collin. "Helen said you were bringing a guest. How old is he?"

"Four. This is Collin."

Saul watched him for a moment but seemed to have no expectation to be greeted like a grandpa. He had always been quiet and reserved, a calm figure in her life. Saul was emotionally blank, a trait that Cristina had learned from him when she was a little girl. It was funny how much he looked like his son, Wyatt. He was tall, with silver hair that was once black, and dark, serious eyes.

"Wyatt is doing well in his internship," Cristina said, for lack of anything else to say. "You would be proud."

"I am proud." Saul smiled, gesturing outside. "Your mother wanted to speak to you."

"Great. How many times is she gonna question me on why I was late?"

"Well, your plane _did_ land three hours ago."

Cristina groaned, plucking Collin from the window and setting him on the ground. She stroked his hair back. "Okay, Col, you have to be nice to your grandma. I know she can be a little… difficult… and she's not the same as your other grandma. Just don't throw anything at her, okay?"

Collin stared back at her with big, curious eyes, and said nothing.

"Right. You seem ready."

She led her son through the house – which had expanded since her last visit to include two more bedrooms, an extra bathroom, and a well-designed study – into the dining room. Her mother was setting down plates for dinner. She looked up sharply as they came in.

"Oh, there he is. Why are you keeping him hidden away in that little room?" Helen came over, but smartly did not touch Collin. She just held out a plate. "Do you want to help me set the table?"

Collin took the plate and wandered off with it.

"He's so big! Look at those curls!" Helen put her hand on her heart, and then glanced at Cristina, as if noticing just now how lackluster she was compared to her handsome son. "Why are you slouching?" And then she seemed to catch herself, and her expression mellowed out. "I was only worried something had happened on the way here. I thought maybe you didn't come…"

"I told you I would." Cristina took half the plates and started setting the table. "You know you're not getting that plate back, right?"

"I have plenty of plates."

She was acting strangely, but Cristina could not put her finger on its source. Helen had never been a mild person. She was always at once extreme or the other, very upset or very happy. She had an opinion about everything. She hadn't even commented on Cristina's hair, on her outfit, or how she had dressed Collin. She hadn't hovered over Wyatt and forced him to shave his stubbly cheeks.

What was really going on with her? Could she be telling the truth?

Cristina vowed to find the truth. Once she proved that nothing was wrong, she could go home.


	47. Some Other Life

**Chapter 47.**

 **Some Other Life.**

 **September 1, 2019.**

 **Beverley Hills, California.**

It was nearly dusk and still pleasantly warm outside. Cristina pushed the swing absently, her eyes on a brilliant sunset that she was far too tired to appreciate. She could remember playing outside until the sun went down and then complaining when her mother made her come in. She remembered toys and late movies and sneaking out to the pool at night – but all of that happened before her father died. She became someone else after that, and everything before it felt like some other life. Someone else lived like that, laughed like that.

It was strange to be here now, as much growing as she had done in the last ten years. She wished she had been a kid longer and she wondered if Collin would look back one day and wish that he had played more. She wondered if he would remember her fondly. She wondered if she would die one day when he was young and leave a permanent scar on the rest of his life.

He had nothing like that going through his mind. He was fixated on the orange clouds, occasionally pointing to them and looking at her to make sure she was seeing the same thing. He had seen sunsets before, but this house was on a hill and they could follow the sun all the way down. It also occurred to her that this swing set had not been here when she saw this house last. She had to wonder if her mother and Saul had put it up specifically because Collin was coming.

She was about to take Collin inside when a head popped up over the fence. She was in her fifties now and time had not been kind to her face, but Cristina recognized her immediately.

"Cristina! Is that you?"

Cristina winced. She scrambled for options – she could pretend she was someone else, or pretend she had no idea who this woman was.

But before she could say anything, her mother had opened the back door. "Bonnie?"

Bonnie Buckley – fifty something, black hair, black eyes, and an annoying bubbly personality that made Cristina want to stay back a hundred yards – looked at her mother and laughed. "Mrs. Rubenstein! You didn't tell me that Cristina was coming home! It's been so long! We have to catch up! Come on, you have to remember me, Crissy!"

If she winced any harder, she might had dislocated one of her shoulders. Cristina looked between her mother and their neighbor. "I remember you. I remember you living right there forty years ago. Have you been here this whole time?"

"Oh, you know!" Bonnie came around, opened the gate, and stepped into the yard like she belonged. "Mom and Dad left me the house and I just couldn't sell it. Who is this cute little man?"

Collin gave her a withering look when she tried to come closer, no doubt to touch his curls.

Cristina laughed, suddenly proud of her kid. "My son, Collin."

Bonnie looked from Collin to Cristina, obviously noticing the dissimilarities. Cristina waited, wondering if she had the balls to ask, but the California girl inside was too strong and she just dropped the topic altogether. "We have to catch up! I want to hear about your life. I heard you were famous now and you have a _hot_ husband."

Cristina was suddenly glad that Owen was not there. He would definitely engage with Bonnie just to annoy Cristina, asking her personal details about Cristina's childhood. He might even start calling her Crissy, which would put him in actual physical danger.

"Well, actually, we-" Cristina began.

Her mother interrupted, "We would love to have you for dinner, Bonnie."

Cristina joined Collin in his expression of subdued rage. "Oh."

"I'm still finishing up, but feel free to stay out here and wait."

Cristina was left in the yard with Bonnie, who began chattering like one of those dolls with the pull string on the back – only someone had pulled the string to the moon and it was never going to stop retracting.

"Well, you know, Patrick Hill tried to become an actor, but no one would give him a part, so he turned to porn! Can you believe that? And Ms. Farmer got busted last year for fudging test scores to make herself look better. It made me wonder if she ever did that to our tests, but then I remembered how smart our class was in general and I guess she got a break there, huh? Because you and me…"

She listened for a while, occasionally perking up when a curious name came into play – an ex-boyfriend, a former bully – and then realizing that Bonnie Buckley was nothing but a walking, talking watercooler. She knew nothing of substance, only rumors. Cristina was beginning to doubt she still talked to anyone from their shared childhood.

Dinner was even worse. Cristina sat beside Wyatt to avoid sitting with Bonnie, but Bonnie ended up sitting across from her and trying to maintain eye contact during her many long stories. Wyatt – who was often uncomfortable with any human interaction – completely ignored Bonnie, and Collin became fascinated with Wyatt, who became even more uncomfortable. Cristina kept an eye on her mother, who was still acting like a muted version of herself and noticed a marked lack of seriousness in her stepfather. She had not spoken with Saul about this diagnoses her mother was touting, and he might tell her it was all made up, but something stopped her from asking him. She struggled with that the whole dinner, trying to keep her curiosities to herself.

Eventually, while Bonnie was trilling on about what Connie from gym class was doing now, Cristina was pushed over the edge.

"What do you do, Bonnie?" she asked flatly.

Bonnie stopped in the middle of her story, looking taken aback. "Well, I do some consulting."

"Consulting? Consulting who? Consulting about what?"

"Fashion, home design…"

"So you have a firm, a company you work for?"

"Well, not exactly-"

"So, no job?"

"No, I-"

"I keep hearing you throwing around all these rumors and judgements about people we went to school with, and I can't help but wonder if you even know them anymore. People change. No, actually, you know what, I think you were the same person in school. You were a leech, and you got your suckers in me and stuck to me all day and night, and now you're at dinner with my family trying to get attention for all your stories about other people. Do you realize how stupid that is?"

Bonnie stared at her, floundering, trying to come up with something to say.

Wyatt cleared his throat and edged away from the table, about to make a run for it. Collin was uncomfortable with the tension and he started banging his fork on his plate. Her mother gently wiped her mouth and then glared at Cristina.

Cristina, having said what was on her mind, took a bite of her mashed potatoes, and then nodded to her stepfather. "These are really good, Saul."

He was as unbothered as she was. "Thanks. I used basil."

"I have to go," Bonnie announced, setting her utensils down and bailing out the back door.

Cristina made eye contact with her mother and smiled. "Guess she was busy, after all."

"You are such a demon sometimes," her mother said, as she had many times when Cristina was younger. "I don't know how I raised such a hateful girl."

"I do." Cristina waved her hands, presenting herself. "Voila."

Her mother scoffed, taking an angry bite of her potatoes. "These _are_ good, Saul."

"Thank you. It's the basil."

Dinner went on that way, as it should be, with Cristina and her mother staring daggers and making passive aggressive comments to each other. It was more familiar than anything in this visit had been so far, and it almost made Cristina feel all warm and fuzzy inside.


	48. The Snoop

**Chapter 48.**

 **The Snoop.**

 **September 1, 2019.**

Cristina crept from her room when everyone else had gone to bed. She left Collin snoozing, all wrapped up in the covers, and used the light on her phone to guide her into the dining room. In the back of her mind, she knew how crazy she must look, shuffling around in the dining room in the dead of the night, but there was this burning desire for truth in her that would not let her sleep. If her mother was being honest, there would be paperwork. Cristina could just find it and confirm the diagnosis – or find nothing, and confront her mother about it.

She found nothing more recent than 2011 in the filing cabinets, and no secret papers tucked away behind the fine china. The bills on the table were for electricity and water, not from hospitals. She found no referrals or notes or appointment reminders.

She was halfway through a pile of empty manila folders when her phone rang and nearly gave her away. She answered, crouching down behind the table in case someone had heard.

"Hello?"

"Why are you whispering?"

"Oh, hey, Mer." Cristina peeked over the table, listening for any signs that her sleeping family had heard the ringing. And then she stood and continued looking through the folders.

Meredith sounded suspicious. "What are you doing? I hear… paper?"

"Snooping. If my mom is telling the truth, there'll be some kind of evidence – bills, letters, _something_. I can prove that she's lying."

"You're nuts." There was the sound of cereal being poured into a bowl.

"I'm trying to put this business to rest."

"No, you're trying to avoid accepting the truth."

"I'm right about this, Mer. I just know, okay? Sometimes we just know things."

"Right." Milk, and then crunching. "Is there a gun in that house? You know, in case someone comes in and thinks you're a robber."

"Everyone is asleep. Besides, my mom hates guns."

Cristina turned, depositing another useless stack of paper onto the kitchen table, and found that she was not alone. Wyatt was standing on the other side of the table, disheveled, wide-eyed. She froze, papers in hand, and whispered, "I'm gonna have to call you back…"

"What? Did you-?"

Cristina hung up and tucked the phone into her pocket, hoping against hope that her half-brother was just sleepwalking.

But he stormed to the wall and flipped the dining room light on, blinding her. "What are you doing?" He took in the scene, his eyes widening every time he found more evidence of her strange activity – papers everywhere, drawers open, and Cristina standing there like she had just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Cristina set the folders down, "Uh, cleaning?"

He was a smart kid. "You still think she's lying, don't you?" He ran his hand over a stack of bills on the table, so that they were displayed like playing cards. "Why? Why can't you just trust her?"

"Because I _know_ her."

"No, you don't! Not anymore!"

"Keep your voice down!"

Wyatt fumed, but looked toward the bedrooms with his lips pressed tightly together. He lowered his voice. "You haven't lived with mom in forty years. She's different now. She's changed a lot."

"You just-"

"And you won't even give her a chance to show you! Do you have any idea how much that sucks for her? You're her favorite kid, and you hate her."

"Wyatt-"

"Now you're in here in the middle of the night going through her things, trying to prove that she's lying about _having cancer_? Why would she do that? It makes no sense! Her kids are both _doctors_!"

He had a point there, but Cristina refused to concede, even when logic was against her. "She needs to be the center of attention. She needs people to pit her and praise her. When I was a kid, she would find a way to make everything about her. I could never have anything for myself. It was all Helen, all the time. So, asking me to believe that she has one of the most pitiable diseases of the modern era without any proof is just too much."

"You're wrong." He just shook his head, frustrated.

"No. I'm not. And I'm gonna prove it."


	49. I'm Gonna Leave it All Out There to Dry

**A/N: Hey guys! I've been wanting to write this chapter for a long time now. I'm not sure how everyone feels about Shane as a character, but I really enjoy having him in the story. His struggle from a bright-eyed intern to a flawed friend has been very fun to write. I was inspired in part by the episode "Do you know?" and how it depicted Owen falling apart after Cristina ended their relationship but stayed at the hospital. Shane has lived in her shadow for quite a while and never realized the impact it was having on him. Anyway, I hope you enjoy him as a character as much as I do, and I hope you leave feedback on what you think the future holds for Shane and for the rest of the crew!**

 **XxX**

 **Chapter 49.**

 **I'm Gonna Leave It All Out There To Dry.**

 **September 2, 2019.**

It was getting late. Shane liked to sit at his window and look into the parking lot, watching people bustle to and fro, wondering what was wrong with them, or right with them, to bring them here.

He was in the same building as some of the most accomplished and revered cardio surgeons in the world, and some of the sickest, strangest patients. Everyone came and went, traveling abroad, doing groundbreaking research, and then coming back to some cozy corner office to compile their data and design new experimental procedures. And their patients came in every nationality, in every color, in every language and culture that the world had to offer. But almost every one of them had something so wrong that their travel expenses were free, people bowed their heads as they passed, surgeons drooled for the chance to crack their chests.

Shane thought about their fates often. He found it strange, and grim, and fascinating.

But lately he had felt that he did not belong here, in this extraordinary place. He felt that his connection with Cristina had been the only thing to get him this office, this stack of paperwork – and now that she had left his life, he felt out of place. It was almost wrong to stick around now that she no longer wanted him here. Shane was forced to wonder if he had spent his whole career trying to walk in her shadow – he had to wonder if he was still himself when she was gone.

He was sitting there, somber, toying with the cross around his neck, when his phone rang. No one ever called his office. It was so unexpected that he fell backwards out of his chair and had to scramble up to his knees to answer. "Hello? I mean, Dr. Shane Ross."

It was the receptionist from the first floor, Tammy. "Dr. Ross, we have a man at the front desk asking to meet with you – a Dr. Adham Farrah – but I didn't see his name on your calendar."

Shane visualized the man and his skin prickled. Adham Farrah. He was the last thing that Shane and Cristina had talked about before she walked out of his life that night. She said that Adham was the father of her son, Henry, and that he was going to take him away.

"What? _Why_?"

"Um," Tammy paused, "I'm not sure. Do you want me to… ask him?"

Shane was tempted to turn him away, but the visit could be related to Cristina or Henry. Why else would he come here? Why else would he want to see Shane?

"Um, no, send him up."

He waited, shuffling stacks of paper until the edges lined up perfectly, turning his bobble-head dog to face outward, and then hiding it in his drawer. Cristina had gotten it for him. She said it reminded her of him. It was supposed to be a gag gift, but Shane had grown to like it. He thrummed his fingers, checked his watch, nervous, but trying to appear calm and collected. He was a professional after all – an adult, a functional member of society. He was not some antsy kid.

Adham Farrah knocked, and then entered his office. He had a certain flair about him, the kind that a famous pediatric surgeon always carried around. Shane found it obnoxious. Farrah was wearing a faded brown leather jacket and his hair was perfectly combed, curly all over, shorter than the last time they had met. It was no wonder Cristina had liked him – he looked sort of wild, grizzled, with a boatload of issues just under the surface.

He and Shane had not spoken much, and they only had at the behest of Cristina. It felt like ages ago when Shane took Henry over to his house for a visit, and things ended badly. Shane was protective of Cristina and possessive over the kid, and he argued with Farrah, and he probably spurred the whole custody battle in the first place. But she _forgave_ him for that.

Now it was different. Shane would never be friendly with this man, not after all the pain he had caused Cristina, but he could be civil.

"What can I do for you?

Farrah glanced around his office, like he was looking for something in-particular. "Do you know where Cristina is?"

Shane bristled. "No, why?"

"She had not been at work. I was worried, and no one will talk to me."

He seemed strangely humble, laying it out on the line. He looked at Shane imploringly, with none of the snark he had shown the last time they met. But it seemed only one of them had grown since that encounter. Shane snorted, "What are you, her stalker?"

Farrah went on in the same tone, making Shane feel bad for his temper, "Henry has not been at daycare, either. Do you know anything? Please, I just want to know if she and Henry are alright."

Shane could have said so many things. _If you care so much, why are you putting her through this? If she wanted you to know, she would tell you. Cristina can take care of herself._

But he finally overcame his anger and answered honestly, "I don't know anything. Sorry."

"I'm sorry to have bothered you, then," Farrah said, and left the office.

Shane went back to his chair and crossed his arms, struggling for normalcy. He searched for her car, for one of her patients, for her striding across the parking lot. Nothing. His thoughts roamed. He knew he could apply the same things to himself that he wanted to say to Farrah _. If she wanted you to know, she would tell you._ But the curiosity only grew. It stretched into worry, and the worry became anxiety, until a knot formed in his belly. If something awful happened to her or the baby, would anyone think to tell him? Would anyone think of him at all? Probably not. He was a loner, after all. _Her_ friends were not _his_ friends.

He worked himself up, and at the end of his shift, he drove across the street and wandered the hospital. He hoped to bump into her, to quell his fears, but after three floors, he did not find her. Her name was not on the surgery schedules at all.

Finally, he went to the attending breakroom.

Meredith was there.

"Dr. Ross? What are you-?"

"Is Cristina okay?" he blurted.

Meredith had a familiar coldness in her expression. "What makes you think there's something wrong with Cristina?"

"Dr. Farrah came to see me across the street."

She rolled her eyes, "He has no right-"

"Yeah, yeah, he sucks, I know, but he said she hasn't been to work, and Henry hasn't been in daycare – are they okay?"

"That's none of your-"

"Please, can we just be civil for a minute. I know I messed up. I know that. Cristina hates me. But I'm losing my mind here. Just tell me she's okay."

Meredith glared at her half-eaten tray of leftovers, "Okay, step one, if you interrupt me one more time this entire lasagna is going in your face, got it?" She waited, and Shane only nodded. "Great. Cristina is in California visiting her mother. Henry was really sick for a few days, but he was discharged and he's home with his grandma now."

He had genuinely not expected her to tell him anything. Shane sunk into a nearby chair, letting that anxious knot uncoil. He felt the same way he had when she was in that sinkhole – helpless.

Meredith watched him, "I know you're his father."

His head shot up. Cristina had lied to him. Did that mean Farrah was not trying to take him away? But this surprise was not _too_ surprising. Shane had always had a nagging suspicious. He almost didn't want it to be true. But the cold look in Meredith's eyes told him it was. And of course, she hated him, too, because of what happened in Switzerland.

Meredith went on, taking another bite of her lunch, "When I saw you in the hallway in France, I knew it was you. I just knew."

"You asked me," Shane remembered.

She nodded, her expression lightening. "And you lied."

"I thought… Well, it doesn't matter now."

"If you try anything stupid-"

"I won't. I wouldn't," Shane cut in. "I would never do that to her."

Meredith shrugged, not looking up. "I know you two are… complicated."

Shane struggled to express himself, to somehow explain how he felt to Meredith. She was the only person he could say it to, the only party that would not punch him, or hate him, if they knew the truth. And he had been dying to get it out for years.

"I love Cristina," he said at last, and it burst from him, "and I keep it from her. I keep it from her because I know that if she knew, it would hurt her. She would know how much it… burns me, and it would hurt her. So she can never know how I feel. I love her more than anything, more than I have ever loved anyone, more than I will ever love anyone else, and I can never have her. Never. I know that. Seeing her everyday – seeing her with _him_ – hurts. It aches. And now that Henry… now that I know… I'll never stop being her friend. I'll never stop being there for her. She needs me, so I'm there. It's not complicated, Meredith. It's not complicated."

He felt like he had poured his heart out, and Meredith sat there eating her lunch. He waited. She kept her eyes off of him, bite after bite, saying nothing, not even acknowledging that he was there. His fury cooled. His heartache ebbed away. His worry for Cristina faded. Now he was just there, empty, waiting to be judged.

Meredith finally finished her meal. She put the lid on the container, set it aside, and looked at him. Her eyes were challenging this time – as cold as they had been when he started as an intern all those years ago, as calculating as any surgeon in this building, and also strangely thoughtful, strangely warm. It occurred to him suddenly how much older she was than him, how much more she had seen. He must look like a dumb kid to her.

But today there was a gentleness in her tone that he had never heard before. Her empathy was just what he needed, just what he craved.

"I love her, too. It's different, but I get it." Meredith stood up and put her hand on his shoulder. "She'll forgive you. I know she will. She needs you in her life – and Henry needs you in his life. But you have to stop this. You have to stop hoping."

"I know," Shane said.

"No. Some part of you doesn't know, and you have to kill it, before it kills you." She squeezed his shoulder, "Cristina loves you, but she will _never_ choose you."

And then she left.

Shane sat alone for a while, letting her words cut into him. She was right. But there was no switch he could turn off, no button he could press. He was not ready to let go. How could he ever be ready? He had these fleeting hopes inside that kept him going – the thought that Cristina might forgive him, that he was a father now, that he might get to know his son. Meredith might even come around to him. He had so many questions for Cristina, so many apologies, so much time to make up for – he wanted to prove Meredith wrong, to prove himself wrong.

But part of him was aware of the truth, dark as it was. He had built his life around a person who did not want him, who could never want him in the way he wanted her.

And he was utterly alone without her.


	50. Vindicated

**Chapter 50.**

 **Vindicated.**

 **September 2, 2019.**

Cristina frowned at the sky, wishing the hours would tick past and bring her closer to her plane ride home. She had important things to get back to – her sickly son, her sickly patient, her husband, who was bound to be tied up in the bathtub with toddlers torturing him by now. She wanted the warm things back, not this fake place with her fake mother and her fake cancer.

But she was going along for the time being. She had let her mother drag her out to a state park, where they set up a picnic and chatted happily by the shore of a lake. Cristina had pouted through a boat ride, a long story about Saul and his former golf partner, and her mother criticizing the way that Collin was dressed. She had asked her bluntly that morning at the breakfast table to see the report her doctor gave her, but her mother dodged the inquiry. She had avoided being caught alone ever since, and whenever Cristina tried to bring up her illness, she found a distraction.

Cristina had managed a few minutes away, following Collin as he roamed up the path to investigate a frisbee-golf goal hidden among the trees.

"I might need you to pretend to be homesick," Cristina said as she trekked along behind him, barely paying attention to where they were going. "If you cry enough, we might even get to board the plane first. But you gotta really sell it."

Collin stopped suddenly, and she nearly trampled him. She looked up suddenly and noticed that they were not alone. Wyatt was a few yards behind them, trying to catch up.

"Hey, we can't both make a run for it at the same time," Cristina said.

Wyatt stopped nearby, "I'm not making a run for it. I was looking for you."

"I got that, thanks."

He studied her, and then said, "What was it like? Growing up with mom? I mean, for you?"

She almost answered immediately, ready to shuffle through all the criticisms she had for their mother, but there was a strange sincerity in his tone. He had been weird ever since he caught her snooping the night before, but it was obvious he had said nothing to their mom about it. Curiosity seemed to be the reason.

Cristina found a better answer but did not sugarcoat it. "Um, they were immigrants. I mean, they had just left Korea and settled in California when I was born. Dad was… great, I guess. I barely remember him anymore. It was so long ago." She was surprised by her own candor. She rarely told people about her family, and it was usually only the people closest to her. "Mom was… well, she was like she is now, but times a hundred."

"What does that mean?"

She was not prepared for his curiosity. He sounded so genuine.

"She was overbearing, overprotective. When my dad died, they were already divorced, but it still hit her really hard. She never let me have friends, never let me play sports or join clubs."

"Did you want to play sports?"

"No. But the point is, she never would have let me. She was always worrying, checking, driving my friends' parents nuts to the point where they wouldn't let me come over anymore. She was always telling me I was wrong, I was too young, I was too naïve. I guess I should be grateful, because rebelling against her judgement was what made me great."

"So, it was… okay?"

"No, it sucked. I hated myself. I never thought I was good enough, just the way I was, so I was always trying to be better. I still live with her issues." She saw that he could not grasp this, so she let it go further, "I can do incredible things in the operating room, but my personal life is a mess. Mom never taught me how to trust, how to be warm, how to be happy. I was looking to her for guidance and all I saw were her issues… all I heard was her voice telling me I couldn't do it."

He was quiet for a few moments, looking at the ground, deep in thought. Cristina was careful to keep her emotions away, to keep this clinical, but something in her must have shown how raw this still was to her. Collin drifted closer, so his shoulder touched her leg.

Wyatt crossed his arms, "It was different for me. Mom was always telling me how good I was. She pushed others away, like you said, but other kids were mean to me, anyway. I was never… good at making friends." He glanced up at Cristina, and then stared hard at the ground again. "Mom talked about you all the time, to anyone who would listen. She always told everyone how proud she was of her daughter, how she was a surgeon, saving lives. It made me want to be one, too. I wanted her to talk about me like that."

Cristina was stricken. She had nothing to say for a few long minutes, and then, "Do you really _want_ to be a surgeon?"

He shrugged.

"You definitely could," she clarified. "But is it what you really want?"

He shrugged again and dug around in his pocket. He pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it over. "I found mom's doctor's number. Maybe this will make you believe her."

She took the paper delicately and watched him walk off.

"Sad," Collin intoned.

Cristina looked at him, "Why do you bum me out every time you decide to talk?"

He stared back, beautiful blue eyes full of questions.

She found a seat on a nearby log and pulled out her phone, staring at the paper. Wyatt thought their mother was telling the truth, but this paper could very well be the key to proving that she was lying. Her drive to find out had diminished after talking to Wyatt, but it was still there.

She dialed, waiting impatiently to get to reception.

"Oh, yes, hello. I need to speak to a Dr. Jacobs, please."

She went through a series of holds, before a nurse picked up. "Hello, how may I help you?"

Cristina thought about lying, but legal trouble was the last thing she needed right now. "Dr. Jacobs is treating my mother, Helen Rubenstein, and I have some questions about her condition."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't-"

"I know, I know, HIPPA and all that, but I just need to know her diagnosis."

"Ma'am, I can neither confirm nor deny that-"

"How long does she have?" Cristina finally said. It burst out of her, and she put her hand over her mouth the moment she heard her own words. Still, more crept out, "How long will she live?"

"I'm sorry, I don't understand the question," the nurse responded.

Cristina reigned herself in, and her suspicion flared. She hung up. It could have meant anything. Wyatt could have gotten the wrong number. Her mother could have been going to another doctor regarding the diagnosis. Or she was lying, and the nurse was confused by the question.

XxX

"Collin, sweetie, are you sure you only want one carrot?"

Cristina watched as her mother tried, and failed, to convince Collin to put just one more baby carrot on his plate. It had been going on for almost five minutes now and neither of them seemed willing to give up any ground. Saul was watching, fascinated, but she and Wyatt had mostly finished eating by now. It was dinner and a show.

"He needs to eat more, look at how skinny he is!" Helen said to her husband.

"He eats when he wants," Cristina intoned.

"You have to push him more," Helen argued.

Cristina shrugged, "Put that carrot on his plate and see what pushing him gets you."

Her mother hesitated, "He needs stability. You were the same way when you were his age."

If she had rolled her eyes any harder, they might have spun in her skull. Cristina reached over and put another carrot on Collin's plate, earning a sour look from him. "Eat it," she said, with no room for argument.

Her mother only had eyes for Collin, so Cristina used the silence to psyche herself up. She was tired of dancing around this. It was time to talk.

"Mom, do you have cancer?"

Helen looked at her, baffled, "What?"

"I want you to say it to my face. I want you to tell me the truth."

She struggled, and Cristina knew what she was going to say before it even left her mouth. "I… well, they found a lump, but it was nothing… I just…"

"I knew it." Cristina stood up so fast she hit her thighs on the table and jostled it. Collin jumped. Her voice boomed. "I knew it! You were lying this whole time! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I wanted my children under the same roof," Helen snapped, "Is that so bad?"

"It is, when you lie about cancer to make it happen!" Cristina could not contain herself. She wanted to take her plate and whack her mother with it. She wanted to scream in her face and call her every name in the book, to relive the arguments they had had when she was a teenager. "God, you never think of anyone else, do you? How could you do this to us? You dragged me away from work – where I save _lives_ – for this bullshit! You dragged me away from my _sick kid_ for this!"

"Who is sick?" she asked, seeming to forget they were arguing.

Cristina threw her hands up, "I can't even believe you right now."

She went to her room, with Collin scurrying after her, and began throwing things into her suitcase. She was all packed up and ready to go when she realized her flight out was not until the next day. Slowly, surely, the fury drained out of her, and she sat on the edge of the bed with her elbows resting on her knees. Despite everything, she was relieved.

Collin infiltrated, pushing his way between her legs and leaning against her, fiddling with a little toy plane that Saul had given him.

"I was right," Cristina said, "I was right the whole time."

He was silent, not looking up.

"And I _told_ Wyatt, but he just… he thinks she became this different person. But I was right. She never changed, she just… got better at hiding it. But, god, how could she do something like this? Is that what adults do now? Is that the world we live in?"

Saul cleared his throat at the door. Cristina groaned.

He put his hands up, "I just want to talk, if that's okay."

"Whatever."

"You know, I missed having you here. I don't think I ever won an argument with you."

Cristina smiled despite herself. She may have had a conflicted relationship with her mother, but she had never disliked Saul. He was an easygoing man, docile to a fault, and no matter how furious she was when she was a teen, he would always talk her down. He was relentless.

"Your mom was wrong to lie to you," he went on. "If I had known, I would have stopped her. But you know how she is."

"Yeah."

"She just wants you two to get along."

"What makes her think we don't?" Cristina demanded. "I mean, I don't hate him."

"Wyatt talks to her. I guess whatever he says makes her worry." Saul came over, leaning against the wall and peeking out the window. "She never got along with her brother."

"If mom has a sob story, please keep it to yourself."

He smiled. "I think she just thinks about it a lot."

"Well, there are easier ways to make us get along."

"You might not like it, but you and your mother are a lot alike." He pulled another plane out of his pocket, carved out of wood, shining a pale, powder blue. "You both live on the extreme side of everything you do, no middle ground. I think that's why I love you."

He held out the plane, and Collin snatched it from his hand. He smiled at the boy, asking for nothing more, and left the room.

Cristina laid back, resting her head on her suitcase.

"I hate California."


	51. The Talk

**Chapter 51**

 **The Talk.**

 **September 2, 2019**

Cristina almost made herself wait through the night. She could not sleep, so she sat up in bed, holding her sleeping son in both arms and watching the darkness through her open window. She had done it many times as a teenager, always winning arguments with sheer willpower, but it was too exhausting for her now. One step at a time, she made her way to the kitchen. She left Collin wrapped up in the comforter, crept into the hall, and paused when she saw a light on. Her mother was there, sitting at the table, appearing thoughtful. It was the quietest Cristina had seen her since she arrived. Helen barely looked up as Cristina took the seat opposite her.

It had been a while since she had really looked at her mother. She was older now. Cristina had barely made time to see her since she was eighteen, too bitter about her upbringing to go home, too focused on her career to consider missing her family – and then, each time she saw her, in those short bursts when major events happened, she had grown years older. Her eyes were pinched now, her forehead wrinkled, her hair a silver cap. It was hard to notice these things when they were arguing, when she was trying to prove her a liar. But in the quiet, when they were alone, the truth was undeniable. Cristina wondered, suddenly, what her father might look like at this age, and that curiosity made this moment more profound.

"I have nothing against Wyatt," Cristina said at last.

Her mother looked up, finally, and folded her hands on the table. "You never even held him when he was a baby. You said you hated him."

"I was a teenager. I hated everything." Her mother had the same strange sincerity in her eyes that Wyatt had in the woods. "Mom… I don't hate him. We're just different."

"Not as different as you think."

"No, we're pretty different. Trust me."

"I just want you to be there for him, because I can't. Not anymore." Helen sighed and stroked a hand over her silver hair, flattening a stray piece. "You know all those roommates of his, they take advantage of how nice he is. He pays most of their way and his own."

Cristina had never even wondered where Wyatt lived or who he lived with. "Roommates?"

"Bunch of criminals, taking advantage. Wyatt is such a sweet boy. You have to help him."

"I'm sorry, I don't run an orphanage for-"

"Cristina," her mother cut in, bringing back her typical, biting tone, "You're all he has out there."

"Jeez, fine, I'll talk to him, I guess."

Helen hummed, satisfied, and studied the table. Cristina had a moment to wonder if her mom had faked this whole thing to force her into helping Wyatt, but she hoped that was too ridiculous.

She was curious, though. It was finally just the two of them, and for once Cristina was not angry with her mother. She was here now, for better or worse.

"Mom… are you really dying?"

Helen looked at her, and drew out the silence, and flattened her hair again. Her voice was low and dim, like the lightbulb above them. "Everybody dies."

Her career had proved that point a dozen times over, with the elderly, with the young, but that statement had never hit her as hard as it did when it came from her own mother. She could have been at home taking care of Henry, or at the hospital, keeping Juliet company, or at the PCRC, finishing the design of her newest surgical trial – but she was here, in a dim kitchen in California, with a person she had never expected to worry about.

Cristina got up and crouched beside her mother's chair, and gave her a brief, tight hug. She whispered, "Next time you make me fly across the country, you better hope cancer kills you first."

She drew away and her mother was smiling.

Cristina went to bed, sliding in beside Collin and putting her arms around him. She could dislike so many things about her mother, hate her for how she was raised, envy her half-brother for his comparably easy childhood – or she could accept it, and move on from it.


End file.
